


In My Place

by kassio



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Adoption, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Coming of Age, Eating Disorders, Explicit Sexual Content, Family Issues, First Time, M/M, Post-The X Factor Era, The X Factor Era, the ED content is not central to the story but it seemed like a thing that should be tagged
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-11-17 03:33:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 97,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11267085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kassio/pseuds/kassio
Summary: Prince Louis has it all. He's wealthy, privileged, famous, and handsome, with a loving family and a world of opportunities. There's only one problem: he isn't actually the queen's son.Harry and Niall Horan don't have much, but they have a dream: to win the X Factor and achieve something more than their normal middle-class life.Two dreams collide and two very different paths come together when Louis requests to meet with Harry after seeing him on the X Factor.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> **Gratitude:**  
>  Many thanks to Britpicker/beta [aslowmotionaccident](aslowmotionaccident.tumblr.com) and to beta [elsi-bee](elsi-bee.tumblr.com). Thank you so much for your encouragement and for all the work you put into helping me make this a better story. 
> 
> **Some story notes:**  
>  As this is a royal AU, obviously some members of 1D and associated family have just been inserted into the royal family and peerage willy-nilly. Just assume that all actual royals and peers don't exist in this AU. (This doesn't actually matter, but in this universe, the royal ancestry is the same as actual history up through Queen Victoria. After that, different people married into the family to produce the royal family in this story. Then instead of the royal family changing their name to Windsor in 1917, they changed it to Styles.)
> 
> Some of what happens in this story is a modified version of the X Factor Series 7, which took place in 2010, but I moved the beginning of the story up to 2015. Also some ages and birthdays have been changed but that's not very important. 
> 
> I tagged for eating disorder content. That's not the focus of the fic, but obviously I wanted to give readers fair warning in case that's an issue for you. If you want further details before deciding whether to read, I have put a little more info as an end note on chapter 1. Obviously, take care of yourselves and use your best judgment in whether or not you should read!
> 
> You're also welcome to hit me up on **[my Tumblr](https://fakedeepplantjerker.tumblr.com/)** with questions.
> 
> **Disclaimer time:**  
>  I don't own these characters. This work is 100% fictional. Extensive creative license is used in characterization, and implies nothing about the real people whose names these characters share, or about my opinions or knowledge of the real people on whose public personas these characters are based.
> 
> Please do not repost my work on other sites. I don't consent to the use of my work in any context besides you chillin' and reading it on AO3 or whatever device you put it onto to read. Don't show my work to anyone in or associated with 1D. Not like that'll ever apply but it makes me feel better to say it!

“This has been going on for  _ too long,”  _ Jay says, her voice barely held below a yell.

“Don't you think I know that?” Anne snaps. “Better than anyone? What would you have me do about it, Jay?”

Jay shakes her head helplessly, brunette ponytail swinging. “There has to be a way out. What happens if, if Gemma doesn't have children and Louis or his children are set to inherit?”

“What if she has five beautiful babies and that never comes up?” Anne counters. “You're borrowing trouble.”

“So you're saying that this is permanent now?”

Anne sighs heavily, closing her eyes for a long moment, and sits back heavily against the padded damask cushion of her chair. “Jay. And Louis. Look. I know that I let this go on for too long. We could have extricated him when he was little, when he was so out of the public eye and had so much growing up to do. But I.” She presses her lips together and looks down. “It took me too long, to accept that... that I'd never get Henry back. And now what can we do?” She lifts her gaze to look at Jay and Louis again, imploring. “Listen, we've talked about it. And the ways to remove him from the family at this point, none of them are good options.”

“What are they?” Louis asks. He winces: he hadn't meant to speak from where he's hovering awkwardly by the doorway with Gemma during this excruciating conversation. He desperately wants to know, though.

Anne holds up a graceful hand and starts counting on her fingers. “Faking your death is an obvious one. It'll cause terrible grief for the country, the funeral will be ghastly, and you'll have to leave the UK forever. We can set you up in North America easily, but you'll need a great deal of facial surgery; you're very recognisable.”

Louis touches his cheek lightly, transfixed.

Lifting a second finger, Anne says, “We embroil you in a scandal so severe that we have to disinherit you. To be honest, it'll be difficult to ruin your reputation that severely without you also ending up in prison. Divorce and adultery don't cut it these days. I wouldn't even count on homosexuality. Myrna thinks a lot of the country would actually rally around that. It'd have to be something like drug addiction, gambling... perhaps a few illegitimate children with married women.”

Louis is grimacing rather powerfully. Halfway through the list, he starts vigorously shaking his head. Anne laughs dryly, without humour.

“Revealing the truth to the entire world,” she continues on another finger. “Extremely undesirable, obviously. The political fallout would be horrific. And the last option we've thought of would be to 'reveal' that Louis is illegitimate and claim that I'm his mother but Des is not his father.” Anne sighs again. “I think that's the least destructive to Louis, but there's a good chance that the people would demand  _ my _ abdication. I'd very much like to see Gemma married before going down that path.” She looks sadly at her daughter, standing with her arm around Louis' shoulder and her long hair half-hiding her face. “It'll be terribly difficult for her to find a husband if she's already queen, I fear. It's not easy for the queen to make new friends, let alone to date.”

Jay sinks slowly down onto a blue-upholstered couch. A long moment passes. Louis and Gemma murmur quietly to each other, too quietly for their mothers to hear.

“I can't think of anything else,” Jay concedes, staring blankly at the curtains.

Anne turns her green-eyed gaze onto the children. “And you two? This concerns you even more than it does us.”

“Those all sound pretty bad,” Louis croaks. “I don't want to go into hiding, or have all of Britain hate me.” He lifts a hand to pat gently at one of Gemma's, resting on his shoulder. “And I don't think it's right to put all that on Gemma right now. I think... that last suggestion. I say we keep it in reserve, yeah? For if we need it. I think, I think we shouldn't rush to jump from the frying pan to the fire, because that's what these all sound like to me.”

Jay starts to cry, quietly, on the beautiful blue couch in the queen's sitting room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want more info about the eating disorder content, I will note it here. Technically this is a SPOILER.
> 
> \------ spoiler below: ------
> 
> Eating disorder content: A character begins eating less in response to an emotionally stressful situation. He's not trying to lose weight, but of course he does lose weight because he isn't eating enough. He vomits a few times but none are self-induced. I tried to keep the focus on his emotional situation and not on his body. It's an issue for a while starting midway through the story.
> 
> Again, if you have questions, you're welcome to come talk to me on [Tumblr](https://fakedeepplantjerker.tumblr.com/).


	2. Chapter 1 / Part I

“So look. For the auditions, you need to use an Irish accent,” Niall insists.

“Niall, this is how I talk,” Harry says, exasperated. “My Irish accent is terrible now. I sound like a bad stereotype when I try.”

“How can you be bad at your own native accent?”

“Because I've been speaking this way for like seven years, wanker.” Switching over to his best attempt at his childhood accent, he says, “Seriously, it's no good. You really don't want me speaking with an Irish accent.”

Niall's eyes widen. “Oh my god, that was weird. Please tell me that was you messing with me and trying to do a bad job.”

Harry bites his lip. He is genuinely embarrassed.

“Come on, I know you can do better than that,” Niall cajoles him. “We want to get up there and sound like we're brothers!”

Harry scoffs. “Why don't you do an English accent, then? We moved there when we were 11. _You're_ the weird one for not adapting.” He thinks he has a good point. When their father's job brought him over to England, Harry had quickly taken to the local accent and he fit in like anyone else. He committed to it too thoroughly, though – the firm had brought them back to Ireland a few months ago and now Harry sticks out like a sore thumb as soon as he opens his mouth.

“Yeah, and then Dad got transferred back and now _I_ don't sound like a tourist in my own country. Fuck off. Irish pride, mate, I won't compromise. Come on, Harry. As soon as we say we're brothers, and then we come out with these different accents, they're going to want to know why and then we've got to explain the whole thing. We can work on this.”

“I'm sure it'll come out that I'm adopted anyway. They'll wonder why we look nothing alike even if we did have the same accent.”

Niall sighs. “You don't know that.”

“Niall, literally like everyone we meet asks if I'm adopted.”

It's an exaggeration, but the question isn't uncommon. The two of them could pass for cousins, perhaps, but they never seem to fool anyone when they claim to be biological brothers.

“Look, we won't tell the whole story,” Harry says softly. “Just that I'm adopted, and, like, a weirdo, yeah?”

Niall chuckles reluctantly. “You definitely are.”

“I know you don't want to get through on my, like, weird sad back story? We'll get through on talent, Nialler, we will. Come on.” He wraps his brother up in a hug, one which Niall returns enthusiastically.

“Okay, Harry. Yeah. We're gonna totally kick ass.”

Harry tries to tell himself, later, that it's all going to be a moot point anyway. Duos never make it far in the X-Factor. They hadn't wanted to compete against each other, though, and they couldn't find anyone else for a group. “Might as well try out, it'll be a laugh,” Niall had said, and Harry had shrugged and gone along with it. Shrugging and going along with one another was how the two of them tended to operate.

They had made it through the first audition, though, the un-glamorous, un-televised one in front of a producer and some nameless assistants. Now they're waiting for their moment to go on stage in front of the actual judges. Finally, their names are called, and a woman with a headset ushers them forward and up the stairs. Harry flexes and clenches his hand. He desperately wants to grab his brother's hand, but he doesn't want to go on stage looking like a scared child.

The audition in front of the judges is overwhelming. They'd been commanded to keep it brief, so when Louis Walsh indignantly asks why Harry's not got an Irish accent, Harry quips that it's a speech impediment. After a burst of laughter, they launch into their song. Niall accompanies them with some simple guitar chords, and they harmonise perfectly, and it seems to take only the blink of an eye for them to rack up three yes votes and get to the next stage.

It's only boot camp, but on the other hand - “We've made it to bloody boot camp!”

“We're going to be on telly! Can you believe it!”

* * *

 

 **** _Harry Horan twitter @harry_horan_  
Hello Tweeps, afraid I've got to log off for a bit here... some things in the works, hope to tell you about it soon x  
_Niall Horan @nialljhoran retweeted)_

Good things so far, just got t be careful what I say so best to say nothing for a bit !!  
_(Niall Horan @nialljhoran retweeted)_

i'll still be creepin on your feeds though pals, don't u worry xx

 

* * *

 

“Uni is bullshit,” Louis moans, flinging himself dramatically to the sofa.

Gemma raises her eyebrows at him from the table where she's painting her nails. “Dramatic much?”

“I have so much reading to do,” he whines. “And everyone is so _weird_. Half the people in my drama class won't even make eye contact with me when we're in a scene together!”

“Oh, yeah, that part is awkward,” Gemma agrees. “Give it some time. They do get used to you. The students in my year are all right to me by now. I mean, they still get awkward sometimes, but almost everyone is willing to look me in the eye, so, I've got that going for me.”

“One girl asked me why I don't roll around in a bubble like a hamster,” he groans, sliding his hands over his face.

Gemma absolutely guffaws at that, her body curling with the force of her laughter. “Oh my _god_ , that's good. You should've gotten her number, that's clearly a girl with spirit!”

“Shut up!” Louis throws a cushion at her.

“Oi, I've got fresh nail polish, watch it! Oh, goodness.” She wipes a tear from the corner of her eye with a knuckle. “I can't believe that everyone bought that half-cocked story, that you were kept hidden away because your immune system didn't work, and then you just magically got better at some point.”

“Got better because I was tired of being cooped up,” Louis giggles. “I wanted to join a footie team.”

“Cured by the power of footie. It was a miracle,” Gemma sighs beatifically.

“Hallelujah, amen,” Louis agrees.

Gemma blows on her Tiffany-blue nails. “Wanna watch X Factor with me?”

“Did you not hear me when I whinged about how incredibly much reading I have to do?”

“So read during the adverts. It's still the boot camp episodes anyway, it's not like you'll miss much if you read through some of the bits.”

“All right, all right. Will you make me dinner, though? Since you're distracting me?”

“Fine, loser,” Gemma laughs. Louis sticks his tongue out at her and levers himself up off the couch to fetch his books.

He actually loves living with Gemma. He's very glad that she agreed to share a flat with her little sort-of brother, even though it's her third year of at the University of St Andrews and only his first. No one thought it was proper for him to live in halls, and he didn't want to live alone.

It's hard to make friends in his position. He's the secret stand-in for Prince Henry, kidnapped at twelve hours old. With the newborn Henry William Louis Arthur of the House of Styles missing, six-day-old Louis William Austin had been tapped to fill in. The fact that the little lads shared some names was just luck. Mostly, they'd gotten him because his mother Johannah was from a good family and a friend to Queen Anne since their school days, but was poor and desperate, abandoned by her former boyfriend, with an infant of nearly the right age.

It should have only been for a few days – weeks at most. Weeks became months, and then years, though, with no trace of baby Henry. The kidnappers were traced to Wales, where they died in a car crash – hit a deer on a country road that went through the windscreen and crushed them. The car seat in the back was empty and unbloodied when the police found it, but there wasn't a single clue to follow.

Anne had tried to institute mandatory DNA testing for every child under a year old. The government wouldn't let her. _The outcry, the panic if people knew – and we'd have to explain why – any sensible kidnapper will have removed him from the country anyway –_ and so on.

While the intelligence agencies searched, Louis grew up with his mother Jay, who was the prince's nanny as far as the world knew; with Anne, who wasn't biologically his mother but in many practical ways was nearly as much of one to him as Jay; and with Gemma, who in the same way wasn't and yet was his sister.

Louis is tremendously wealthy in family now. He has two mothers and a stepfather: though Anne is still single long after the pain of losing their baby boy destroyed her marriage with her husband Desmond, his mother soon remarried. Since then, Jay has had four more daughters, so he has four biological sisters by now in addition to Gemma. Five sisters, two mothers, two fathers, and one big, big secret.

To all but a few dozen people in the know, most of whom are intelligence officers, he's Prince Henry who goes by his middle name Louis, and he has been for almost eighteen years.

When he was very young, he was hardly allowed to associate with people outside the family at all, for fear that he'd let something slip. As he grew older and learned to bite his tongue, he met more people and was even allowed to go to school, but he found it hard to connect with people, knowing that he could be ousted from his life at any time by the real Henry, wherever he was.

So, here he was: a hyperactive troublemaker who'd been moulded somewhat effectively into a prince, a young man with very true friends who was living with his big sister, a seventeen-year-old starting uni too young because he'd gotten so far ahead in his years of private tutoring, a young man with a rather frightening (though fabricated) medical history that made people treat him like he was made of glass. An impostor of sorts, living the life of a prince who _could,_ theoretically, show up at any moment and upend his life, but who, realistically, was probably dead.

“Louis, it's starting! Get your shit and get in here!”

Louis shakes himself, realising that he'd been dwelling, again, on his weird situation. He needs to stop worrying and start living, maybe. With a sigh, he grabs a few books, detours by the kitchen to grab a few beers, and parks himself on the couch with Gemma.

The reading doesn't go quickly, because he's distracted, but he does actually get through some of it. Gemma's good at alerting him when something's worth watching. They make all the contestants do a choreographed dance, and it's predictably awful.

“I mean, they all tried out because they could _sing,_ why do they expect them to be able to dance, too?” Louis rolls his eyes.

“Come on, an ideal pop star's got to be a triple threat, right? Singing, dancing, and, um...”

“Being hot?”

Gemma snaps her fingers. “That's the one.”

They show some clips of the competitors singing, and they're mostly okay. There's one woman with quite an extraordinary voice who makes Louis look up, but mostly he can ignore them. No point getting too emotionally invested in someone who won't go through, and at this point most of them aren't going through.

“Oh, the Horans! I like them,” Gemma coos. “The blond one's a bit baby-faced but he's cute. The other one's got great hair but he's kind of got a weird frog-face thing going.”

Louis looks up from his reading to see two boys about his age crooning dramatically on stage. Blondie looks like a fun lad, even though his cardigan is a bit dorky. Curly-hair's wearing a skinny scarf and he might be the most beautiful thing Louis' ever seen, not that he's going to tell Gemma that. Curly also looks strangely familiar. Louis narrows his eyes. “I feel like I know him from somewhere. Has he been on the show before?”

“Don't think so. And he's Irish, so the chances of you crossing paths are pretty low.”

The boys are speaking to the judges now. “What are you on about? He barely sounds Irish at all. The two of them have got completely different accents!”

Gemma giggles. “I know, it's so weird. They're brothers!”

Louis stares. “How? Separated at birth?”

“Kind of the opposite, one of them's adopted.”

“Oh, like, he was adopted when he was older?”

“No, no. As a baby.”

Louis' face is contorted with confusion. “Nothing that you're saying makes sense.”

“He said it was a speech impediment, but I think maybe it's just a weird joke or something? I think they lived in England for a while so I guess Harry picked up the accent.”

“Ugh, whatever.” Louis goes back to his reading while a girl group makes a mediocre attempt at a Spice Girls song.

He pays attention again at the end, when they're announcing who goes through to the judges' houses. The Horan brothers – Harry and Niall – look incredibly nervous, each clinging to the other with an arm wrapped around his brother's waist. It makes Louis feel a sad twist of pain in his chest. He and Gemma have been referring to Henry as _their brother_ for ages. Seeing these two so close makes him miss the brother that he never had. It makes him wonder if he and Henry could be brothers, really, if they ever find him.

He doesn't say this, because it seems like kind of a dick move to say to Gemma of all people.

Simon slowly lists the groups that are going through to the next stage. After the allotted number have left the stage, Harry and Niall are left with the rejects and sent off. They hug backstage, and Harry wipes tears from his eyes, but the maudlin part only goes on for so long. “Harry and Niall Horan, you're wanted back on stage.”

Gemma brings a hand to her mouth. Louis just knows that she's going to bite her nails, so he swats it away from her face. “Thanks, bro,” she murmurs, eyes fixed on the telly. “Oh, this will be good.”

Harry and Niall are ushered back onto the stage, but they're not alone: one other young man from the solo men's group is waiting there already.

“Boys,” Simon says. “As a duo, we didn't think you had what it took to go all the way. But you two, you've got something special, and we didn't want to let you go so soon. We'd like to group you with Liam here, who didn't make quite the cut in the solo group but has terrific potential. We think the three of you could be spectacular together. What do you say?”

The three of them share a long look, clearly sizing each other up. Niall and Harry have a hurried whispered conference.

“Okay!” Niall yells. “We're in, yeah.” Harry nods vigorously.

“All right, yeah,” Liam says, and laughs. They all burst out in happy laughter and come together for a fierce group hug.

When they pull apart, the camera focuses on Harry's face, grinning and doing this adorable nose-scrunch that Louis just knows he's seen before, and, “Holy motherfucking _hell_ ,” Louis yelps.

Gemma startles. “What the fuck?”

Louis leaps over the back of the sofa and darts toward his bedroom. “Laptop, laptop, laptop,” he chants, “Need my bloody laptop right now.”

“Louis, what's wrong?” Gemma yells. Louis hears the quaver in her voice and curses, running back into the living room with his computer under his arm.

“Shit, Gems, sorry, don't worry about it, okay. I just, erm, thought of something I need to take care of, yeah?”

Gemma narrows her eyes at him. “You can't freak out like that and then tell me it's nothing.”

“Look, give me a few minutes, all right? I just need to look something up. Hey, you could make us dinner while I do my computer stuff?” He grins at her, cheesy and fake, wiggling his fingers over the keyboard.

“You're being extremely suspicious, but, fine,” Gemma sniffs. “We're coming back to... whatever this is, though.”

“Fine, fine, shoo.” Louis waves her off, and Gemma drifts off toward the kitchen. Once she's a bit further away, he mutters to himself, “Time to stalk the _shit_ out of Harry Horan,” and he gets to work.

It's not nearly as easy as he thought. “Bastard's wiped his social media!” he exclaims in frustration.

“Who?” Gemma yells from the kitchen.

“Harry Horan! He's all gone or gone private from just about everything! All he's got public is a Twitter and it's mostly shitty knock-knock jokes.”

Gemma pokes her head into the living room. “That's a good sign! You know the show is way behind real time right now – he's probably got past the judge's house if he's gone to the trouble of wiping his social media.”

“Good for bloody him,” Louis sighs. Gemma goes back to her sizzling pan and Louis keeps typing.

He has to get into serious stalker territory now: looking up Harry's family and school, trying to figure out who some of his friends are and looking for pictures on _their_ social media. Tumblr is a help. Amazingly enough, young Harry already has fan blogs and they've dug up a surprising amount of material.

What he really needs, what would prove everything in a moment, are shirtless pictures, but there aren't any, not even a naked baby photo on his mum's Instagram. Outrageous. Terribly inconsiderate.

He does find photos of a birthday party: Harry turning 17, in a picture posted January 8th. Louis was born on December 24th, Henry on December 29th. That birthday picture is more than a full week after Henry's birthday, but it's possible the photo wasn't posted on Harry's actual birthday. Possible, too, that Harry doesn't _know_ his real birthday, if he's truly Henry but doesn't know it.

He pulls up photos of Harry and of Gemma, and then pulls up a photo of Anne too, for good measure.

“Louis, I said dinner's done,” Gemma says, striding into the living room. She leans over the back of the couch and frowns. “Why are you looking at pictures of me and mum? And... Harry Horan?”

Louis turns slowly to look at her with wide, shocked eyes. “Look at him, Gems. The smile, the dimples. The nose. Even the eyebrows. You didn't see it?”

“See what?” she asks slowly, eyes darting between Louis' face and the computer screen.

“It's Henry, Gems.” Louis swallows against a sudden, huge lump in his throat. “Baby brother. Harry, Harry is Henry.”

“No.” Gemma shakes her head. Her knees buckle suddenly. She clutches the back of the couch and sinks slowly to the floor. “He can't. How could that be?”

“I don't know how baby brother could end up bloody _Irish_ ,” and Louis actually manages a laugh at that, albeit a rather-choked up laugh. “But he's the right age, just about, has a birthday end of December or early January, and he was adopted. I found this article from his old school paper that mentions that he was a foundling so he doesn't know who his parents are or when he was really born. How suspicious is that? And look at that face. How can he _not_ be part of the House of Styles?”

He wraps a hand around hers and squeezes. She's breathing shallowly, gaze fixed on the screen. “Look, look, it's all okay. Baby brother's fine, he's been fine all along, and now we can get him back. We're going to get him back!” He's grinning manically, he realises, and he can't stop, but Gemma's laughing through her tears and throwing her arms around him and it's all going to be okay.


	3. Chapter 3

“X Factor Hooooooouse!”

Niall sprints out of the car, hooting and yelling. He doesn't get more than a dozen yards before he face plants on the lawn, but he just bounces up, twirls, and keeps running.

Liam's watching Niall with a bit of a sour face. Harry laughs, throwing an arm around Liam's shoulders. “Chin up. Remember what my dad said, about exuberance doing well with viewers and, like, the value of different personalities in the band.”

“It's my new life mantra,” Liam answers. It's quite deadpan but Harry's pretty sure it's a joke, so he grins and claps Liam on the back. Liam is so terribly serious. He's sure that the extra almost-two-years he has on Harry and Niall makes him ever so much more mature, and he is, as he actually said out loud, “in it to win it.” The boy is out for blood. Sure, Harry and Niall want to win too, but Harry doesn't think they'll get far with Liam wet-blanketing over everything, no matter how sweet and Timberlake-esque his voice may be. They're the teen boy band and that means they need to be fun! They've gone over this quite a bit in the two weeks that the three of them spent together at the Horan family home, but Liam still needs more reinforcement.

Harry chuckles to himself as he lopes up the pathway to the house. He and Niall have plans to try to get Liam to loosen up some. It ought to be a riot.

 

* * *

 

The judge's house episode has aired. Harry, Niall, and Liam are now officially One Direction, and they're officially on the X Factor. They've known that for more than a month already, but the public has just found out about it. Harry's gained quite a few new Twitter followers. He wants to say hi to them, but there are cameras in the house and he needs to go be entertaining.

Most of the contestants are hanging out and celebrating, one way or another, but Liam is in their room doing breathing exercises. “Breathing exercises! Unbelievable!” Harry whispers to the camera. “Come on, we're going to shake him up a bit.” Niall follows, giggling, as Harry opens the door and steps into the room that the three boys share.

Liam looks up and glares at the camera. “Harry, I told you I wanted to – hey, you're wearing my clothes!”

“Oh, am I? These things? Did our laundry get mixed up?” Harry pulls the sweater away from his belly and frowns down innocently at it.

Liam groans. “Stop it, Harry, and give me my stuff back!”

“Gosh, calm down, Liam, sorry. Fiiiiine.” Rolling his eyes, Harry pulls off the hoodie he has on and tosses it at Liam. “This shirt yours too?”

Liam is gaping at him, looking appalled. The shirt actually hits him in the face. “Poor dodging skills, mate,” Niall says. “Pitiful.”

Harry reaches for the button of his trousers. Liam shakes his head frantically and holds up his hands. “Oh my god, Harry, you can't just strip on camera, keep the stupid jeans!”

“Noooo, no, you were so very insistent, I'll give you them back.” Harry giggles. Niall actually falls over onto a bed, wracked by belly laughs, as Harry drops the trousers to reveal a sparkly gold thong. Liam groans, hiding his eyes behind his hands. “Hey, this isn't yours, right, Liam?”

“Is what... oh my god why did I look!” Liam shrieks.

Harry is doubled over laughing. He staggers over to Niall's bed, where they both roll around with tears streaming down their faces while Liam yells at them.

They're subsiding into giggles, even Liam, when they hear one of the camera men say, “Do you hear that? Hey, go see what's going on.” They've clearly gotten what they need from the boys, and they head off down the hall.

Harry ignores them, taking deep breaths on the bed and trying to calm his laughter. “Oh, your face, Liam. Classic.”

“Why do you even have that?”

“Oh, baby, wouldn't you like to know,” Harry says, waggling his eyebrows.

That's the moment that two very official and rather scary-looking men in suits walk into the room, trailed by a crowd of nervous-looking X Factor staff. “Harry Horan?” the taller man asks, looking straight at Harry.

Harry snatches a pillow from the bed and holds it on his lap, which probably just makes him look more naked, but at least they can't see the banana hammock he's wearing. These men aren't the X Factor production staff or even the rather unimpressive security. They have earpieces and muscles that are obvious even under their suits, and Harry's pretty sure that he sees the outline of guns under their coats. “Yes?” he squeaks.

“You're going to need to come with us.”

“Um. Who... are you?”

“We're with MI5,” the tall one says.

Harry looks desperately at Diana, the head producer, who is wringing her hands as she looks back at him. “I did check their badges. I'm afraid you do have to go with them, Harry.” She turns to the two officers. “Let him get dressed in privacy, please? Surely he can put some clothes on?”

“Ah. Fine, yes. We'll wait in the hall.”

As they leave, the shorter of the two turns back and says, “Bit of advice - dress as well as you can, Mr. Horan. A business suit or similar, if possible.”

Diana immediately turns and points at a man and a woman from wardrobe, who nod and sprint away without a word. Harry sits in a daze, waiting. They don't take long to return bearing a nice grey suit for Harry with a white shirt and green tie. “To complement your eyes,” the petite woman explains in a whisper as she knots it. They don't have nice shoes for him, as wingtips are decidedly not a part of the teen-boyband aesthetic, so he's going off to – whatever it is – prison, probably, in black Chucks.

Niall presses a backpack into Harry's hands. “Packed up some essentials for you. Harry, I don't know what's happening, but it has to be some kind of mistake. It's going to be okay, I swear, we're going to call lawyers right away and get everything sorted.” Diana nods enthusiastically to this as Niall give Harry a fierce hug. Harry closes his eyes and clings, but all too soon, the large officers are back, gently but firmly telling him that he has to go now.

He's expecting a police car, or a terrifying prison van, but all that's waiting outside is a sleek black car. One of the officers gets in the back with him, one sits in the front passenger seat, and the driver takes them smoothly away the second Harry's seat belt is buckled.

Harry worries at his lip with his teeth for long, silent minutes as the car slides through the quiet evening. He finally musters up the courage to ask, “Where are we going? What's happening? Am I... under arrest?”

The officer sitting next to him makes a quiet noise, a little huff that could be a suppressed laugh. “You're not under arrest. We're not at liberty to say more. We'll be there in about forty-five minutes.”

Harry desperately wants to pull out his phone and, he doesn't even know, text someone, tweet, anything. He's afraid that they'll take away the phone if they see it, though, so he just waits in the excruciating silence of the luxurious car.

They drive to central London, strangely, and pull into what seems to be the garage of an ornate manor. It doesn't look like any sort of prison or police station. Head swimming, Harry thinks that maybe this is all some strange prank. Are there hidden cameras in here?

He's ushered from the garage through elegant hallways to a sitting room that is modern and clean, yet somehow opulent. There's something about the quality and lines to it all that just looks rich.

He's so busy taking in his surroundings that it takes him a moment to notice the man in the room, sitting quiet and still in a dark shirt and trousers on a dark couch. When Harry's eyes do settle on the man, he startles so violently that the hulking man behind him puts his hand on Harry's upper back to stabilise him.

Prince Louis smiles at him.

He's clearly trying to look disarming, but just as clearly, there's a tension around his eyes and mouth. Harry does not feel put at ease in the slightest. Not that he could be at ease at all when he's standing in a room with Prince Louis.

“Harry, thank you for coming,” Louis says smoothly, as if Harry had a choice. He gestures at an armchair opposite him. “Please, take a seat.” 

After a nudge from his scary chaperone, Harry stiffly walks over and stands by the chair. “Erm. Am I supposed to bow? Your, um, highness?”

“Please, just sit.” Louis' tone is almost pleading. “Don't worry about any of that. For now, just call me Louis. We'll sort the protocol out later.”

Harry gingerly lowers himself into the chair. Fortunately, it's modern and a bit stiff, not one of those cushy easy chairs that suck you in and keep you there. At the moment, he's happier with something on which he can perch tensely.

“You can go, Paul, thank you.” Louis nods at the officer, who nods back and slips silently out of the room, closing the door behind him. He turns his attention to Harry and attempts another smile. “I'm sure you're wondering why we've brought you here. Well, I actually can't tell you yet, but we'll get to that shortly. I just need to ask you a few questions first. Now, Harry... Actually, I wondered, why did your parents call you Harry, anyway?”

“It was my name,” Harry frowns. “Erm, sorry, how much do you know about me? I'm sorry, that sounds stuck-up, but I guess I'm here for a reason, so maybe you, like, know stuff?”

“I know quite a lot, but tell me as if I didn't, please.”

“Oh, well, all right, I'll try? Erm, so when I was a baby I was left in a church in Mullingar? The doctor said that I was a few days old, maybe a week. I was left on a pew, they found me around five in the morning but they don't know when I was left, or by who. There was a note in my blanket, that said.” Harry stops and blushes. “This is stupid, but I have it memorised.”

“It's not stupid, please, go on.”

“Well.” Harry takes a deep breath. “It said, _I can't keep sweet Harry any longer. It's too dangerous for both of us. Please take care of him._ That's all. We sort of figured, my mum must have abandoned me, right, because it wasn't safe for her to keep me, like maybe she wasn't married and her family was angry or something? And my mum, I mean, my real mum who raised me, she said, um, that my other mum had given her a great gift, you know, me, and she should honour her by using the name that she gave me. So. Harry.”

Louis blinks at him. Harry bites his lip and blushes again. He's not sure that made sense with all the different mums, but there, he got it out, at least.

“Right. Well. Do you have any birthmarks, Harry? Or anything else unusual about you, physically, that would identify you indisputably?”

Oh, Lord. Harry thinks his face must be about to catch fire. The thing is, he's not at all body-shy or ashamed of himself – he'd stripped down to his pants in front of cameras not an hour before this – but he's talking to a member of the royal family, and that makes everything different. “Oh, erm. I mean. Like. Erm. Yes.”

Harry hopes that suffices. It was a yes or no question.

Louis stares at him for a long moment before he seems to realise that Harry isn't going to say anything else. “Okay. Such as?”

Harry drops his head into his hands. In a muffled voice, he says, “It's too embarrassing. I can't tell the _prince_...”

Louis giggles. It's so shocking and out-of-place that Harry manages to raise his head and look at Louis. He's amazed to see a slight flush across Louis' high cheekbones, too. “Harry,” he giggles, “Do you have extra nipples?”

A surprised laugh bursts out of Harry. “Two, yeah, how did you know?”

“Oh, brilliant. Show me, please.”

“What?” Harry laughs helplessly.

“It's actually very important. I'm not messing with you. I really need to see for myself.”

Harry slowly unbuttons his jacket, and then raises his hands to the collar of his shirt. He fidgets with the button in his shirt before shaking his head, looking down. “I can't... Isn't there someone else who can look?”

“Hey, hey. Don't worry about who I am. It's okay.”

“I'm sorry, I'm acting like a stupid child.” Harry scrubs a hand over his face and takes in a shaky breath that turns into a gasp when he feels a hand at his chest. Louis is suddenly in front of him, kneeling and unbuttoning Harry's shirt. A single thought races through Harry’s mind and, horribly, right out of his mouth: “I can't believe how un-erotic this is.”

Louis actually throws back his head and laughs. The sight of his unrestrained laughter would be delightful if Harry weren't absolutely mortified. Harry claps his hands to his mouth. “Oh my god, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to say that, that was so inappropriate, I'm _so_ sorry.”

Louis keeps giggling as he undoes Harry's shirt. “You're in an extremely weird situation, I get it. Okay, then.” He spreads open Harry's shirt, then twists suddenly to grab a folder off a side table just within arm's reach. Harry looks at the wall over Louis' head, feeling a bit like he's at the doctor. It seems like Louis is comparing Harry's chest to something in the folder. He looks back and forth a few times, comparing, then laughs again, even more joyfully than before. “Oh my god, it's really you. It's _you!”_ Suddenly, Harry has an armful of a laughing, beautiful prince who's just surged up and caught him in a powerful hug. Harry's arms come up around Louis, because, well, it would be rude not to hug back, he supposes, but he has no clue what's happening.

“Oh, dear.” Louis pulls back. “You must be so confused, I'm sorry. I'm so happy and you don't even know why. Or, have you figured it out yet?”

Harry shakes his head mutely while Louis quickly buttons his shirt back up for him.

“No, well, it's hardly a reasonable conclusion, is it. Come, sit on the sofa with me.” Louis takes his hand to help him up, but doesn't release it as they cross the room and sit on the couch. It's deeply strange, but it's comforting. Harry has always liked touches and cuddles.

“Okay, I'm going to give you the very short version, because a few other people are dying to meet you and they'll kill me if I keep them waiting too long.” Louis grins while Harry just stares. “All right, so, once upon a time,” he giggles, “Sorry, I guess I’m nervous, too. This part's not actually funny. So, a fair prince was born, and then when he was just a few hours old he was kidnapped. In order to hide this from the public, to prevent panic, a child of a similar age was brought to fill in for him, temporarily, because who can tell babies apart, especially in pictures, right? Only instead of getting the fair prince back within days, it took us almost eighteen years.” He pauses and squeezes Harry's hand, beaming at him. “That's you, by the way. I'm your stand-in. Louis William Tomlinson. Nice to meet you, Prince Henry. We’ve been looking for you for a very long time. I’m so happy to meet you.”

Harry stares at him for so long, a painfully long time. With each passing moment, the idea of being able to say anything sensible only gets further and further away.

“Hey. You still with me? Breathe, Harry.” Louis squeezes his hand again.

Harry squeezes back and takes a deep breath. “This is.” He blinks frantically, but his speech is slow as molasses. “A joke, right? I mean, every adopted kid dreams that they're long-lost royalty, but no one actually is. That's, like, not a thing that happens.”

“Not generally, no. But in your case, yes, it very much has happened. Now, listen.” Louis puts his hand on Harry's shoulder and looks at him, blue eyes burning with intensity. “Your mum and your sister very much want to meet you. I know this is crazy and overwhelming, but Anne's been heartbroken over losing you for seventeen years and she really, really needs to see you. Can you handle it?”

The first thought that crosses Harry's mind is _but I have a mum already_. He knows immediately what a hurtful thing to say that would be, if this is all true, so he doesn't say it. “This is impossible. And I don't know how to talk to the queen. I'll mess it all up.”

“Messing anything up is basically impossible at this point. She's going to be so happy, you can't even imagine. Is there anything you need first? Some water? The loo?”

Harry needs a lot of things right now, but a glass of water isn’t one of them. He swallows and says, “Erm, I… no, I guess not?”

“All right. I know this is a lot, but it’s going to be okay, trust me.” Louis squeezes Harry’s shoulder, then looks away and calls, “Paul! You can come back!”

Paul opens the door almost immediately; clearly, he was waiting and listening for Louis. “Should I bring them in, sir?”

“Yes, please go fetch them, Paul.” Louis is beaming, and Paul's heretofore-impartial facade actually twitches into a small smile in response. He strides away, leaving the door open. It doesn't take long before he hears raised feminine voices and then quick feet hurrying down the hall. In moments, Queen Anne is bursting through the door with Princess Gemma close behind her.  They're both dressed comfortably in soft trousers and blouses with low shoes, hair loose and not particularly styled. Anne's hair looks a bit ruffled, as if she's been nervously running her hands through it.

“It's him?” she asks in a quavering voice wholly unlike the regal, controlled tone that Harry knows from the telly.

Louis stands up, Harry following, and he turns Harry to fully face the door with gentle hands on the taller boy's shoulders. “He's Henry, he definitely is.”

“Oh, God, my baby.” Queen Anne bursts into tears.

Harry's absolutely frozen. Nothing in his life has prepared him for seeing the queen herself break down crying and then run across the room sobbing, “It's you, it's you, it's _you,”_ before wrapping him up in a trembling hug.

She's much shorter than him. Baffled, he looks down at her head, buried in his chest and weeping. Her hair is the same colour as his. Her perfume is delicate and floral. On one level, he sort of gets that this is supposedly his mother, and a woman who needs comforting, but that's overwhelmed by the fact that she's the _queen_ and he's not actually sure if he's allowed to even touch the queen.

He feels a hand on his and jerks his head to the side, startled. Louis presses his lips together into a small, sad smile, and lifts Harry's hand to place it on Anne's back. Louis winks and then glances away. Harry follows the look and turns his head to the other side to see Princess Gemma sharing a smirk with Louis. Hesitantly, Harry lifts his other arm to wrap around the queen, too, embracing her lightly. This only makes her cry harder and tighten her arms around him.

Princess Gemma must see his panicked look, because she steps closer to him and puts a hand on his shoulder. “It's okay. Just give her a minute,” she whispers in his ear.

This is the weirdest fucking thing that could ever happen to him.

It must be quite a tableau, Harry thinks to himself. There he is, in this luxurious sitting room, flanked by the Princess of Wales and the younger prince, hugging a crying queen. “But I'm just Harry,” he whispers desperately.

“Oh, of course you are,” Anne says. She wipes her face, then looks up at him, taking his face in her hands. Her red-rimmed eyes roam his face hungrily, cataloguing every detail. “You do look so much like Gemma. My goodness, these curls are extravagant. Wherever did those come from?”

Harry shrugs. He knows, actually – her grandfather William had a famous head of curls. He's sure that she knows as well, though, and it's a rhetorical question.

“Your—parents,” Anne says intensely. “Were they kind to you? Did they treat you well? Have you been happy? Well-cared for? Well-educated?”

“Erm, yes?” Harry chews on his lower lip. “I mean, I've been, I am happy, yeah. As good a life as any, I suppose? Just normal. Me and my brother Niall, we're really close. He's my best mate.”

“Good. Good,” Anne breathes. “Well. It's worlds better than all the things I imagined happening to you in all this time.” She presses her lips together, nostrils flaring; she's struggling to contain strong feelings, clearly. “All these years and you were just... just growing up with a normal family! In Ireland! And then here, God, in the same _country_ and we had no idea!”

“Why don't we sit, Mum?” Gemma suggests.

“Oh, yes, fine.” They all squish onto the couch together: Harry between Anne and Gemma, Louis cuddled up on Gemma's other side.

“Oh, I just want to know everything,” Anne sighs, petting Harry's hair. “Your whole life and, well, who you are, as a person. And there's so much to arrange. Oh, I so want to keep you close, but we'll need to put you in a proper school to finish college. But this school year has already been interrupted, so I think you should live in London for this school year and have tutoring. You've a lot to catch up on that you need to know as part of the family, and forgive me for saying so, I'm sure your schooling has been adequate, but I imagine you're a bit behind what you'd have learned by this time at Eton.”

“Oh, well, erm.” Harry looks away uncomfortably. “I mean, I'm on the X Factor right now. I signed a contract... I don't think I can just leave. And Niall and Liam are depending on me.”

Anne's eyebrows shoot up. “Darling, you can't be on the X Factor. It's simply not appropriate for a prince of the royal family.”

“Well, but. I really don't think it's that simple. I did glance through the contract and the penalties for leaving seemed quite severe, actually. I mean, I guess if you told them, erm, why you wanted me to leave, they would probably... let me...”

“Or maybe they'd do whatever they could to keep you on,” Gemma muses. “I've heard that Simon Cowell is ruthless.”

“There's a lot to arrange before we can go public with this.” Anne frowns. They all fall silent for a long moment, considering.

Harry screws up his courage and clears his throat. “Well, is it, like, a good idea to go public at all?”

Anne looks baffled. “I don't follow, dear.”

“Well, I mean. Louis' been raised his whole life to be the prince, and he seems good at it. Knows what he's doing. I'm just.” Harry hesitates, gnawing on his lip, which Anne tuts quietly at. He takes a long breath and then, talking more quickly than he has all night, bursts out, “I'm a middle-class gay Irishman who you found from a singing talent show – how can I be the prince of anything? Why not just leave it as it is? Oh, no, I don't mean I don't want to be part of your family or anything,” he says at Anne's stricken look. “Just, it could just be something we know, the whole world doesn't need to know.”

Anne gawks at him, extremely taken aback, before shaking her head slowly. “Well, these are things we need to work around, of course, but they're not insurmountable. We were just discussing a few months ago how being gay likely wouldn't turn the public against Louis.”

“Are you gay?” Harry asks Louis, wide-eyed.

Anne waves her hand and says, “It was a hypothetical. The point is that attitudes have changed a great deal. And I won't let the narrow-minded ideas of some of our citizens keep my son from his rightful place.”

Her eyes flash with a passion never seen in her carefully-composed public appearances. Harry's heart sinks. He rather thinks he's just made this worse for himself, made her more determined than she was before. Carefully, he says, “Well. I guess I'm just suggesting that maybe we don't need to rush into anything. I could stay on at the X Factor a bit longer, and spend time with you and, like, we can see how it goes.”

Anne seems to be seriously considering his words. Harry's heart lifts hopefully. She is the queen, and, technically, his mother. He doesn't know whether she's his legal parent now, but he strongly suspects that she can exert a great deal of control over his life if she so chooses. Her having some respect for what he says is an encouraging sign.

She sighs. “I don't like it, but it's a place to start. You'll at least continue while we review the situation and the legalities. All right, that's sorted. Tell us more about yourself, Harry.”


	4. Chapter 4

Louis wakes up to an alarm at eight in the morning and seriously considers smashing the thing against a wall. It's his phone, though, and that would be wasteful, not to mention inconvenient. 

Instead, he blearily drags himself out of bed. 8:30 breakfast, Anne had decreed. It seemed cruel, considering they'd stayed up hours past midnight talking to Harry, and then an hour past that, talking just the three of them after packing the exhausted young man off to a guest room. Louis thought they all deserved a lie-in after all that. Alas, deserving had nothing to do with it. Anne had obligations, and they still had some things to sort out before she left for her day, so a morning family meeting was not optional. 

Louis brushes his teeth, then pads down the hall in his pyjamas. He figures he'd better check whether Harry's awake. He knocks at the door of the guest room, first a series of quiet taps, then louder and more insistent knocks when he gets no response. 

“Okay, I'm coming in, scream now if you're not decent,” Louis says as he slowly pushes the door open. No risk of Harry screaming, it turns out: he's still fast asleep, mostly hidden in a mess of sheets and a puffy duvet. His face is smashed into the white pillowcase, curls strewn over the pillow. He looks like a very dorky angel. 

Louis considers him for a long moment. If it were Gemma, he'd wake her up by jumping on the bed, or dumping water on her head, or smacking her with a pillow. His first impulse is to do the same to Harry, to treat him like family. The boy's overwhelmed and vulnerable now, though. Louis is mischievous, but doesn't think he's cruel. So, just voice first. “Harry. Harry. Wake up, Harry. Rise and shine... come on, are you seriously sleeping through this right now? Harryyyyy. Wow, you're not even stirring. I'm impressed. Okay, come on.” He leans over and gently shakes the sleeping boy's shoulder. “Wakey-wakey, Harry.”

Harry sighs, so clearly he's not dead, but he doesn't open his eyes.

“Okay, fine. I wasn't going to do this, but you leave me no choice.”

Louis jumps and flings himself bodily onto the bed, cackling as Harry groans and flings out an arm. He smacks Louis in the face, but Louis' not bothered. 

“Why,” Harry groans. His morning voice is charmingly deep and raspy. “What’s happening? Am I still dreaming?”

“I tried to wake you up gently, but it didn't work. Up and at 'em, now, breakfast is in half an hour.” Louis is putting on his most cheerily obnoxious voice. It's definitely working because Harry cracks open his eyes enough to glare at Louis. 

“If you're allowed to yell at me and jump on my bed, am I allowed to yell at you to leave me alone and let me sleep?” Harry asks in a syrupy-slow voice. 

Louis giggles and hops up off the bed. “We're family now, so sure. But I'm still here to wake you. I don't think I trust you not to fall back asleep if I leave you, so, come on, get out of bed.”

Harry blushes, which is _interesting._ He does sit up, blankets falling around his bare waist. “I'd really rather you left,” he murmurs. “I'm getting up, I promise.” 

“Nope.” Louis crosses his arms and puts on his best smug-royal-asshole face. 

Harry glares at him some more. They stare each other down. “I'm serious. I think you can tell how stubborn I am,” Louis says.

Harry heaves a huge, dramatic sigh, and dives back under the covers. “Don't come in after me! Just give me a sec.” He rustles around under the duvet.

Louis laughs. “What on earth are you doing?”

Harry slides out from under the duvet and stands up, with a sheet wrapped tightly around his waist. “Okay, happy? Now please get out.” He's got a delicate pink flush across his cheeks, and Louis giggles again as he realises why Harry seems so embarrassed, and why he uprooted the sheet to wrap around himself instead of just getting out of bed like a normal person. 

“I'm glad you're making yourself comfortable,” Louis snickers. “See you at breakfast.” He hastily retreats, and is rather satisfied to hear a pillow hit the door after he closes it. He doesn't even feel particularly bad about embarrassing Harry, because whether Harry's realised it yet or not, Harry treated him like a friend instead of like a prince. That's pretty remarkable considering they've only just met.

The first few minutes of breakfast pass with polite pleasantries. Anne lets them all at least get a bit of food and tea down before she gets to serious matters. “Well, I'm happy to say that we've gotten the results of the DNA test back.”

“Already? Doesn't it usually take, like, days?” Harry asks. 

“Oh, the test itself doesn't take much time at all. I suppose that if you get it done commercially, most of the delay is waiting for your turn. When the royal household calls a lab and tells them that we need a test done immediately, well, it gets done immediately.” Her small smile transforms into a full-blown grin. “It told us what we already knew, of course. You're my son.”

She reaches for his hand and squeezes it, beaming. He musters up a little smile in return. “Wow. Officially. It's still hard to believe...”

“I want to meet your adoptive parents. They should be informed about the situation as quickly as possible,” she announces. “I think it's best if you go and bring them. We'll all have dinner. You can go back to that show tomorrow, but this is more important today.”

Harry's mouth falls open. “Erm, go and bring them? It takes a while to get to Mullingar from here. I can call and ask them to come, and maybe they can make it here today, but they're already at work by now, so—”

“Oh, no, I'm sorry, you don't need to fret about that. You'll take the helicopter. It'll take a few hours, I'm afraid, but you can be back in time for dinner. I really think it's best if you fetch them. Surely they won't just come to London on a moment's notice with no explanation, and it wouldn't be right to give them this sort of news over the telephone.”

“The helicopter. Right.” Harry huffs out a laugh. “Well then. Okay.” 

“Very good.” Anne smiles fondly. 

Harry nibbles on a piece of toast, looking off into the distance. Gemma and Anne quietly compare notes on their plans for the day. Harry swallows the last of his toast and asks, “Hey, Louis, will you come with me?”

“Oh. Why? I wasn't planning on it, but I suppose I could.”

Harry shrugs. “This is just all really weird. I don't want to ride in a helicopter all alone, or, well, the scary security guys would be there, I guess. It sounds like Gemma's busy. At least I've met you before. And you're funny and nice.” He blinks guilelessly. 

“You're candid,” Louis observes, a bit surprised. 

“No fair, I want to go on the helicopter trip with baby brother.” Gemma pouts. 

Louis sticks his tongue out at her. “You were _just_ saying how important your meeting this afternoon is.”

“Ugh, I hate this meeting. I'll cancel it.” 

“You will not,” Anne interjects firmly. “You'll get to spend time with Harry some other time. And you hate the helicopter.”

“Ugh.” Gemma bites into a scone, wearing a sullen expression. 

“So will you come, Louis?”

“Yeah, all right. I'm missing my classes today anyway since I'm staying down here for tonight, so, why not.” 

“Yay!” Harry does a weird little shimmy that makes everyone laugh. 

They get themselves ready not long after Anne departs. Harry seems anxious to get his parents; Louis can hardly blame him. Louis fires off a few e-mails to professors, apologising for missing class. He starts to type “due to an urgent family matter,” but of course that's how rumours start. “Due to official business,” then. He doesn't think the professors will care, but he knows that both Anne and Jay would tell him off for missing a class and not notifying anyone. 

He doesn't want his professors thinking that because he's royalty (as far as they know), he doesn't take uni seriously. He genuinely does. He'll be taking it even more seriously from now on, too, as he's about to get demoted to regular person who has to fend for himself. 

“Ready to go?”

He looks up from his computer at Harry, who's practically vibrating. “Just a sec, Curly.” He taps out the last bit of his e-mail, sends it off, and shuts his laptop. “All right, we can go. Here, I brought you some of my incognito clothes. We'll take a car to the palace and get the helicopter there; this place doesn't have a helipad.”

“No helipad? I don't know how you can even live in a dump like this.” Harry attempts a smirk; it's not entirely convincing, but it's a good effort.

Louis snickers. “As a matter of fact, we _don't_ live here. This house belongs to the Duke of Kent. A cousin of ours, well, yours. It seemed a bit subtler than bringing you to the palace straight out.”

Harry seems to look at the stately home with new eyes as they drive away.  He's clearly even more fascinated by the palace when they arrive, but when Louis offers him a tour, he refuses, more concerned with seeing his parents than with Kensington Palace. Louis's amused by his urgency, but he understands.

Harry is suitably impressed by the helicopter, and can't stop exclaiming over every detail. “It's much bigger than I thought! It's so nice inside! These seats are so fancy... What crest is that embroidered here? There's a minibar?! I thought you had to wear big earmuffs inside helicopters.”

Louis laughs as he buckles himself in. “It's the queen's personal chopper, mate, you can't make the queen wear that stuff. Some of the best soundproofing in the world in here.”

“The queen's own... Right. So it's got to be very safe, yeah. Yeah. That's good.”

“Are you scared?” 

“Erm, not exactly, but I've only been in an aeroplane once before, so...”

“It'll be fun.” Louis smiles. 

Harry smiles nervously back. He grips his seat with white knuckles as the helicopter lifts up into the sky, but he also stares out the windows with undisguised fascination. Louis watches him, pleased. Riding in the helicopter is a rare treat even for him; he’s glad that Harry can appreciate it.

“Do you like being a prince?” Harry asks suddenly.

“Interesting question.” Louis frowns and considers his answer carefully. “It's all right, yeah. I mean, it's a job to me, honestly. Sometimes it's a bit shit – there's a lot of rules, you have to act just right, you're obligated to go to all these events and sometimes they're great but sometimes they're incredibly boring and you have to put up with a bunch of annoying twats. But the pay is solid and the perks are pretty amazing, getting to travel and meet world leaders and celebrities, living in an honest-to-God palace. It's not as removed from real life as you'd think, either. The paparazzi don't follow us all the time, we can go to normal shops and stuff – well, not Anne, but Gems and me do. People usually just want a bit of a chat and a handshake. It's all right.”

There, that was a good answer, Louis thinks. Honest but reassuring. Harry doesn't say anything, though. Perhaps he needs a bit more encouragement. “You'll be fine, I promise. I'm sure it'll take some getting used to, but it'll be good.”

Harry shakes his head, frowning. “No, that's not – I mean... how are you being so nice to me about all of this? It doesn't seem right to me. You've been the prince for your whole life, and now, they'll just take that away from you? If you're happy with your life... It just doesn't seem right.”

“Oh, Harry. You have such a kind heart, don't you?” Seized by a sudden, surprised fondness, Louis leans over and pats Harry's knee, giving it a little squeeze.  _ Oops, was that weird?  _ “You've got to understand that I always knew that I was really just Louis Tomlinson. I always knew that this could happen. It is strange and a bit scary, yeah, my life will change a lot. But there's loads I'm looking forward to, like, freedoms I didn't have before. And Anne will make sure I'm taken care of, I mean, I'm expecting to need to have a career and all that, but it's not like I'm being cut off and kicked out of the family. We've gotten so close over the years, it's just not like that. And...” He looks away. “We missed you every day, you know. It was like, like this huge hole in our lives.”

He turns back and grabs Harry's knee again, looking him earnestly in the eyes. “It's easy to overlook because there's all these logistics, it's not like if your birth family were just a normal family, but you – I mean, you got kidnapped when you were a few hours old. You were brand-new and then you were  _ gone. _ You can't imagine what it's been like for the family. We really thought you were dead by now.”

Harry flings himself forward and throws his arms around Louis. It's very awkward and it's a terrible hug because they're both held in place by their seatbelts, but it's the best hug. Louis doesn't understand how they instantly became so tactile with one another. It's like they're magnetised, drawn to one another, neither one of them really fighting it.

“You're so nice,” Harry sniffles. “I don't get how you can be so nice about it.”

“We're just so happy to have you, Harry,” Louis whispers into a faceful of brown curls. He doesn't ever want to let go of this beautiful boy. 


	5. Chapter 5

Harry's starting to worry that Louis may actually be perfect. 

He already knew – because he's been a bit of a Royal Family fan since he was young and thought Gemma looked like him, _ha_ – that Louis was handsome, stylish, and almost always well-dressed. He knew that Louis was athletic and fit, having made a full recovery from the childhood illness that Harry now knows was fictitious. He knew that Louis was smart, well-educated, well-spoken, and genuinely witty. He knew that Louis was kind, great with children, and already a patron of a variety of charities helping homeless and ill kids.

Basically, Louis was a total dreamboat according to some teen magazines that Harry had surreptitiously purchased, and also according to Harry. But Harry used to be sure that Louis had some humanizing flaws. He didn't know what they were, but they existed, obviously, because Louis was human, obviously. 

Only, Louis might be an actual saint or angel or something. Some weird kid shows up to take your place to basically steal your life and you're happy about it? Incredibly nice about it, reassuring and helping your own usurper? 

“You know those stories where a company outsources all the jobs, and they bring in a bunch of people from, like, India, and pay them half of what the original employees were making, and make the old employees train the new ones who they know are replacing them?”

Louis looks up from his newspaper, blinking in confusion. “Come again?”

“You and me,” Harry elaborates. “It's a metaphor.”

“Does this mean you'll cook delicious Indian food for me?” Louis says, eyes back on the paper.

“I don't think they make replacements cook for their co-workers. That would be really weird. Maybe kind of racist. Anyway, I've never made curry. Reckon I could do, though. I make a pretty good beef Wellington.”

“Beef Wellington?” Louis' eyes dart back to him, incredulous. “Are you kidding me? Even our chef complains when we ask for beef Wellington because it's so much trouble.”

“It is a lot of work but it's fun to do for a special occasion.”

“All right, next time I want beef Wellington, we'll give Clarissa the night off and have you fill in.” 

“Landing in ten minutes,” the pilot interjects.

“Oh!” Harry throws himself against the window. “Look, there's my old school! Wow!” 

Landing means having to suit up for the rest of their trip. Louis' “incognito clothes” turn out to be pretty unimpressive stuff: sweaters, sunglasses, caps. Harry is disappointed. “I hate baseball caps. There are so many great hats in the world. Why this? Can I at least wear it backwards?”

“No, the whole point is it shades your face and makes you harder to recognise. Tuck your hair up under it.”

“Now I still look like me, only stupider and uglier.” 

Louis pinches Harry's cheek. “What are you trying to say about me, then? Come on, get a move on.”

There's hardly anyone there to see them get out of the helicopter, which is fortunate, because their disguises are probably completely ineffective. It's a short drive to the school where his mother Laura works. He fluffs up his hair as they drive. Luckily its short confinement in that ugly hat didn't harm it much. “I'll wait in the car,” Louis says. “We want to avoid causing a scene as much as possible.”

“Yeah, of course.”

Laura teaches at the local school. The secretary in the front office knows him, of course. It only takes a moment to get a guest pass. She's very curious about why he's in town and why Niall isn't with him. Avoiding her questions is difficult, but he manages to slip away and head to his mum's classroom. 

She's shocked to see him. She immediately thinks that he's playing hooky from the show and has somehow travelled on his own and spent all his money to show up at her school. It's not very flattering. It takes a while to convince her to get a substitute teacher, because, “I can't just leave my job in the middle of the day because you had some wild idea, Harry,” but then she concedes with a long-suffering sigh, “I guess I need to deal with whatever mess you've made here.”

“I didn't make the mess,” Harry says sullenly. He hums “we didn't start the fire” as they walk out of the school. “This is our car,” he says, pointing at the long, sleek sedan with dark-tinted windows. 

Laura stops abruptly. “What's going on here?”

“Mum, please, just get in the car,” Harry pleads. One of the security officers has gotten out of the front seat, and he opens the back door for them. Harry slides in and beckons urgently to Laura. 

Grimacing, Laura starts to slide in, then freezes when she sees the man already waiting in the back seat. 

“Mum, please sit down and let him close the door before someone sees, _please.”_  Harry pulls hard on Laura's arm and she plops into the seat. Mike quietly closes the door behind her. 

“Harry, what's going on?” she asks. Staring at Louis, she hesitantly asks, “Are you...?”

“Louis, yes, it's a pleasure to meet you, Laura, Harry's told me so much about you,” Louis says smoothly, shaking Laura's limp hand. “I'm terribly sorry for all of this – it must be a bit of a shock – but it was the simplest we could think of on short notice.”

“I think we should probably wait until we have Dad, too, and then we can explain it all?” Harry offers, chewing on his lip.

“Drive quickly, then, if you're going to keep me in suspense. Oh, Harry, you're not in some kind of trouble, are you?”

“Not... really,” Harry says unconvincingly. Laura frowns. “I mean, no, but it's a complicated situation.”

“I'm really not the guy they send after criminals and miscreants,” Louis grins. 

The ride is quiet after that, just Harry and Laura giving directions to Mike, the driver. Harry's father Bill works at a small engineering firm. They send Laura in to retrieve him in order to avoid repeating the confusion of their child showing up when he should be in London. It doesn't take long for Laura to emerge with Bill, and then the four of them are squeezing in to the back seat after dealing with Bill's bewilderment. It's a rather tight squeeze in back, as both Bill and Laura have put on a few pounds over the years. Harry's squished up tightly against Louis and trying not to think too much about how nice the lean young man feels against his side. “You really couldn't spring for a car that fits six?” he teases.

“We may not have entirely thought this through,” Louis concedes. 

Harry catches his parents staring at him, appalled. His mother is mouthing something at him, and Harry's shit at lip-reading, but it's probably something like _you can't talk to the prince like that!_ “This'll make sense soon, I promise,” he defends himself. 

Explaining the situation to his parents over tea in their living room turns out to be very difficult. His mother cries. His father looks shell-shocked. When Louis tells them that they're to come to London and meet Queen Anne, Bill fetches the whiskey and takes a shot. He offers one to Laura, and she takes it, too – one of the very few times Harry's ever seen her drink alcohol at all. 

Harry ends up asking Louis to give them a minute. Louis graciously goes to sit in the kitchen while Harry wedges himself in between his parents on the sofa, throwing his arms around them. “I love you guys. You raised me, you're my parents, and I don't want that to change,” he says, quiet but urgent. “You're still going to be my family, right?” 

He thought he was coming over to comfort them, but maybe that wasn't really true. 

They both hug him back, murmuring reassurances. “We'll always love you, Harry,” his mum says. “A lot will change now, but not that. Never that.”

 

* * *

 

Going back to the X Factor house the next day is surreal. He tries to focus on the moment, gliding through London in a luxury car, up front next to Louis in the driver's seat, but it’s hard to take his mind off the past two days. 

In the space of 36 hours, he had thought he was being arrested; found out he's a prince and second in line to the throne; met his birth family; met the royal family; flew to Ireland and back in a single day; rode in a helicopter for the first time; introduced his parents to the queen, Princess Gemma, and Prince Louis; and visited Kensington Palace - and those were only the most significant bits. 

The evening with his parents and the queen had been even more emotionally exhausting than the night when he met Louis, Anne, and Gemma. That first meeting had been difficult, confusing, and upsetting, but everyone had been so _happy_ to meet him. 

With his parents in the room, though, there had been such a heavy weight of sorrow. There was Anne's sadness for all she had missed, and his parents' sadness for all they stood to lose. They had spent hours poring over photo albums. Anne wanted to know every detail of his childhood, wanted to stare at every picture. (She tried to keep the albums. Laura and Bill had to swear up and down that they'd get the highest-quality copies made and send them as soon as possible.) Anne got out her own photo albums, and they compared Harry and Gemma at different ages.

His heart breaks all over again when he remembers his father saying, “We always knew his mum could come back into his life someday. But it seemed so unlikely. Something like this...” He shook his head, at a loss for words. 

And then his mother had looked at the queen and asked, tremulously, “Are you taking him away from us?”

“Mum!” Harry exclaimed, grabbing her hand.

“Of course I'm not—I'm not taking him _away,”_ the queen said uncomfortably. “Well, of course you'll always have a relationship with Harry. You did raise him. I'm not trying to come between you. But. But you must understand that your adoption was illegal. Through no fault of your own! But I should be his legal guardian. I _am_ his legal guardian.”

“But we're his parents. We raised him. He's not even a United Kingdom citizen!”

“He's a citizen by birth, of course he is. His official identity just doesn't match who he legally is right now.” Anne shook her head. “Frankly, the law is absolutely on my side on this. If you can acknowledge that, we can all work together. I will fight you on this if I have to, and I'll win, and, well, I do think that in the end we'll all be much happier if we work together now. Don't you see?”

_“Please,”_ Harry blurted. “No one needs to fight here! I'm turning 18 soon anyway and then this is all moot anyway, isn't it?”

Anne looked at him, and then away, closing her eyes. “Well. There's a lot we need to plan before we go ahead with any legal changes, anyway.”

It had been tense and fragile. He still doesn't know at all how to deal with the fact that his parents could end up feuding with _the Queen of England._ He’s not even sure such a feud is legal or possible. Everything about the situation is impossible. 

“You okay?” Louis asks, interrupting his thoughts and jolting him back to the present. “You’re quiet.”

“Hm? Oh, yeah. Just, you know, everything. And I wish I could bring you in to meet Niall,” Harry sighs. “He's going to absolutely flip when he finds out I met the whole royal family and he didn't get to.”

“You didn't come anywhere close to meeting the whole family,” Louis says, eyes focused on the traffic as he drives. “You've got loads of cousins and aunts and uncles and great-aunts and all that.”

“Do they all know?”

“No, no. Those who are closer, yeah. But the whole situation is pretty need-to-know. There's a lot of second cousins who certainly think I'm actually related to them, yeah.” Louis chuckles. “In for a bit of a shock, aren't they.”

Louis pulls up near the entrance of the X Factor house. He parks the car and turns to Harry with a smirk. “Here we are, Your Highness.”

“Ew, no.” Harry wrinkles his nose. “Are you sure you won't come in?”

“No way,” Louis laughs. “Keeping this quiet, remember? Okay, so here's the law firm's card—”

“I already got one—”

“Take another one. They'll be calling and they should be talking to the X Factor people today. I don't know if you'll actually see them at the house or not, it might be something that takes place at other offices, but they've been told to keep you in the loop. Hey, it's going to be all right.” Louis squeezes Harry's shoulder. 

Harry smiles faintly. “Okay. It's going to be so weird going back. I'm not a great liar.”

“You don't have to lie, just tell them that you can't discuss it.” 

“I guess so. Hey, Louis.” Harry bites his lip. “You're going back up to Scotland, so I won't see you for a while I guess. Can we, like, exchange numbers? I'll try not to bother you too much but you've been really good to talk to these last few days...”

“Oh, yeah, of course. Of course you can call me if you need to. Or text, or whatever. Here, ready? I'll tell you my number...”

Harry quickly types it into his phone, heart pounding. After a moment of hesitation, he saves him under the name “Lou,” and texts him. “There, now you've got mine.”

“Brilliant. All right, get out of here, Curly. Go win the X Factor.”

Harry squawks out a loud laugh. “Yeah, all right. Talk to you later.” He climbs out of the car and waves as he walks away. He might be smiling like a fool, or the wave might be really dorky, but he can't seem to help himself. He can faintly see through the tinted windows that Louis smiles and waves back before urging him away with shooing motions. 

It's disgustingly early in the morning. Many of the contestants aren't awake yet when he enters the building. He cruises through the kitchen to find that their two cooks are still working on breakfast. They look at him curiously but don't ask where he's been; they just welcome him back, then amiably tell him to get out of their way and come back in fifteen minutes. He already had a small breakfast, but he likes the kitchen and the cooks. It's soothing and homey, passing through where the cooking is happening.

He does pass some members of the production crew getting ready for the day, and tells them that he's back, not that it's not obvious. He figures they'll pass the information on to whoever should know it. 

In their room, Niall's still asleep. Liam is already gone from the room – probably working out in the house's small exercise room, as he does most mornings. Perfect: a few moments alone so that he can tell Niall what's been happening.

He leaps bodily into the bed and wraps himself around his brother, crooning, “Good morning Nialler, good morning Nialler, wake up baby Niall!” 

“Get away, you stupid hairy noise octopus,” Niall grumbles, muffled. 

Harry cackles, realising that his hair really is all over Niall's face. “Go away, he says? Oh, okay, I'll just get out of here then, if you don't really want to know where I've been, that's fine, it's not that interesting anyway—” 

He starts to pull away, causing Niall to surge out from the blankets and lock his arms around Harry's waist. “You're the worst, you should've at least brought me a tea or something, but don't you dare, you stay here and tell me this instant, Harry Edward Horan.”

Harry doesn't resist, sinking back into the bed. “Sorry, dad,” he laughs at Niall's firm tone. The laugh doesn't last long, because his words immediately remind him of how much he has to tell Niall. “Wow, that's not my name anymore. Niall, I met my birth family.”

“What the fuck?” Niall sits bolt upright, staring down at Harry lying against his pillow. 

“Yeah.”

“How did your birth family get actual government agents to come kidnap you from the X Factor house?”

“It's funny you say that,” Harry says slowly, “Because it turns out that I was, like, actually kidnapped? Like, as a baby. The woman who left me at the church, she wasn't actually my mum? She was one of the kidnappers, but the guys she was with, they died in this car crash, and she panicked and just...” 

“What the actual fuck.”

“I know, it's so weird.”

“So what's your birth family like?”

“Well.” Harry hesitates, and then laughs. “You're not going to believe me. Shit, I should've taken a selfie with them or something.”

“Stop being cryptic, dickface.”

“It's, erm. The royal family? Like, er, the queen is my mum.”

Niall stares at him for a long moment. Then he braces his legs against Harry's midsection and pushes. Harry's flung from the bed, and he lands with a thump against the floor. “You arsehole, be serious!”

“I am! Hold on, hold on, let me just—” He pulls his phone from his back pocket – not cracked, despite the abrupt introduction to the ground, thank goodness. He dials Louis' number, puts it on speaker phone, and prays that Louis will answer.

He does. “Don't tell me you left something in the car, Haz, I'm not turning around.”

Niall's jaw drops. “That can't be... that sounds like...”

Harry says, “Hey, I'm telling Niall what's up and for some weird reason, he doesn't believe me. Could you just please say hi and who you are, real quick? He's here on speaker phone.”

“Oh, hello, Niall,” Louis says warmly. “Sorry I didn't get a chance to meet you yet. This is Prince Louis, yeah.”

“What the fuck,” Niall repeats. 

Louis laughs. “I know, right? Okay, I'm driving, so if that's all there is, I'm going to hang up now.”

“Yeah, that's fine, thanks, Lou. Later. Drive safe.” Harry ends the call and looks up at Niall. “Believe me now?”

“This could be a really elaborate prank,” Niall muses, “but you're actually shit at pranks, and you're a shit liar, and you seem pretty serious. And Prince Louis has a really distinctive voice. He'd be tough to impersonate. So, wait, so he's your brother?!”

“He's actually not,” Harry says, just as he hears the door knob turning. He sits up and quickly whispers to Niall, “We can't tell him anything,” just before Liam opens the door. 

“Harry!” Liam exclaims. He quickly shuts the door behind him. “Oh, jeez, thank god you're back. What took so long? I can't believe you just left us for an entire day! What happened?” 

Harry raises his hands up, feeling a bit defensive as he sits on the floor and Liam looms over him. “Okay, first of all, I _really_ didn't have a choice so don't be mad at me here, and the reason that they, erm, that I had to, er, anyway, it wasn't anything I did. Something I'm sort of, erm, unknowingly, unwittingly mixed up in?”

“Mixed up in?! What does that even—” 

“I'm really sorry, Liam, I seriously can't tell you anything. All I can tell you at this point, both of you, is that I'm staying in the competition as long as I can. I think the contracts are so tough that I kind of have to stay in, so, that's on our side.”

“They're actually going to let you continue on?” Niall asks incredulously.

“Like I said, the contracts,” Harry shrugs. “Not much of a choice, I don't think. The lawyers will be all over it but yeah. And I told them that I want to stay on. I didn't want to let you guys down.”

“Who are you talking about?” Liam asks, his brown eyes wide and sad. “Why would anyone make you leave the show? They—you can't do that to us...”

“It's, well, a family matter, sort of. Only more complicated.” Harry sighs. “Look, I'm trying to stay on. I'm fighting for it. I'm massively outclassed, frankly, I'm really out of my depth, but I'm trying. Okay?”

Liam frowns for a long moment. “I don't know. I guess I have to take what I can get, huh?” He turns away to go shower, leaving Harry feeling like he's just kicked a puppy. Poor Liam – he takes the competition so seriously, and being saddled with Harry and Niall is hard enough already. 

“That dude is going to have an aneurysm if we don't loosen him up,” Niall mutters, snickering, once they hear the hiss of the shower come on. “So, okay, so what happens now? What, they're just going to let you keep living your life and, like, be pen-pals? Mates in secret?”

“I did ask for that, actually,” Harry says, and Niall honks out a shocked laugh. “Seriously! I mean think about it, how restricted my life would be if, you know, they tell everyone, right? I said, I'd be a lousy prince anyway, so, why not just leave things as they are. I could publicly just be, like, a family friend. I don't mind getting to know them. 'Cuz, like, the, erm, queen – I mean, I was kidnapped as a baby, I can't even imagine how hard it was for her, and she's, like, really excited to have me back. But, no, she's pretty insistent that we go public with it all and for me to officially be in the family all. Just, there's a lot to figure out. So for now I can stay here.” He laughs ruefully. “For the first time, I'm hoping our contract is so iron-clad that even the queen herself couldn't get me out of it.”

“This is so weird.” Niall considers in silence, then asks, “How did a prince get kidnapped without the whole country knowing about it, anyway? You can't exactly keep it secret that a queen was pregnant. Or, were you, like, super-premature?”

Harry shakes his head. “No, it's actually – so you know Prince Louis? He's actually, erm, my stand-in? Like, they brought in this other baby to pose as me to keep it quiet from the public because they thought people would panic, and they thought they'd get me back right away, but they never found me so they just had Louis carry on. He's not related to me at all.”

“What the...” Niall's jaw drops. “Oh my god, it's so convoluted, this is amazing. So you're just kicking Louis out of the royal family. Man, that's brutal.”

“I know,” Harry moans, hands covering his face. “I feel awful about it. He's been so nice to me, though. I don't get it. But, he's known all along that he wasn't really the prince, so, maybe for him, it's like, finally the other shoe drops and he gets to move on with his life.”

“Man, what would they have done if, like, the queen and the princess died and suddenly he was going to be the king?”

“Yeah, exactly. It wasn't a good situation.”

“Damn.” Niall lets out a low whistle. “And I can't even tease you about this in front of everyone else. This sucks.”

 

* * *

 

The law firm calls later, but all they say about the meeting is that it was “informative” and they're “studying the contracts.” They also mention that their first priority is not to extricate Harry from the contest entirely, but rather to loosen his restrictions so that he can leave the house for a few hours a week to have lessons and to spend at least an hour with “Her Majesty the Queen.” The negotiations are delicate, though, because they don't want to tell the truth to Simon Cowell or his legal team. Right now they're insisting on control of Harry for several hours based only on a vague argument of “a serious, ongoing family matter.”

It rankles that Harry has so little control of this situation, but he can't see any way to change it. All he can do at this point is do his best at the X Factor. He throws himself into their training and rehearsals and tries to forget the rest. 

It's not that hard to get some distraction. The house is constantly abuzz; there are dozens of people, cast and crew, to interact with, and endless lessons ranging from voice training to styling to handling social media. Some of it is fascinating and some of it is stunningly dull, but he can mess about with the other young people during the boring parts, so even the worst lessons have their charm. 

They also have a lot of rehearsing to do. A _lot._ Liam still seems resentful of Harry having been gone for over a day, and honestly, their vocal coaches aren't much happier. It stings.

“Give me a break,” he snaps at Liam after the older boy makes yet another passive-aggressive comment about Harry's part being less polished than his and Niall's. “I didn't ask for this, you know? I'm only back at all because _I_ fought for it so give me a little credit. I'm doing the best I can!”

“Well, if the best you can do gets us sent off next week, it doesn't matter, does it!” 

Harry sighs as Liam storms off. “Guess I just made that worse.”

Niall shrugs. “Not sure what else you can do. Give him a little time and do your best, I suppose.” 

“Try to be understanding,” says Savan, one of their vocal coaches. “It's really important to him. Having the first live show coming up is a lot of pressure.”

“It's a lot of pressure for all of us,” Harry argues sullenly. 

“Yeah. He takes it really seriously. What can you do? It'll get better.”

The only thing that makes the situation with Liam easier is that as the days go on, their song gets tighter and smoother, and Liam is a little brighter every time they get through the song without a hitch. 

Harry doesn't hear much from the lawyers or the royal family, aside from a half-hour video chat with Anne. He hides himself away in a supply cupboard for it with his laptop in the hopes that he won't be interrupted. The housemates are all incredibly nosy and there's just no way to explain why you're Skyping with the queen. The video quality is shit – the production has not sprung for the fast internet, surprisingly enough – and he looks terrible, half-overexposed and half in shadow thanks to the harsh single light bulb. And yet Anne lights up when he comes on screen as if she's seeing something wonderful. 

It's an awkward conversation, though she's very kind. She wants to know all about what he's been up to, but she's clearly never watched the X Factor. It turns into him explaining to her how the show is structured and how it goes, which is pretty weird. A lecture on a stupid TV show probably isn't what either of them want their first one-on-one conversation, but neither of them seem to be able to change the course. 

Her eyes go a bit vague after a while, but she keeps smiling. He wonders if she's just happy to listen to him talk, or if she's sadly realising that her only son is boring and an idiot. It's not very comfortable.


	6. Chapter 6

“Why do you have the telly on already? The show doesn't start for like an hour.” Gemma crunches into her apple and stares at Louis with her eyes full of judgement.

Louis glares at her. “I don't want to miss it starting. And anyway, I'm very interested in... whatever this program's about.”

“Fly fishing?”

“Yes. I'm very into fly fishing now.”

“Shouldn't you be working on that paper?”

“I'll do it while I'm ignoring the fly fishing.”

Gemma snorts. Whatever. She might make fun of him, but he notices that she stays within earshot of the television, too.

He's trying to focus on Shakespeare when his phone buzzes. He doesn't have a lot of friends and he doesn't get a lot of text messages – at least not when he and Gemma are in the same place – so it's surprising. Curious, he picks it up, and his heartbeat immediately accelerates when he sees that it's from Harry.

7:02 PM  
_ Can you call me? Please call if youre not busy _

7:02 PM  
_ sorry I shouldn't bother you _

7:03 PM  
_ I Don't know who else to talk to sory _

“Harry's just texted me,” he says wonderingly.

“What?!”

“He's asking me to call him.” Louis frowns. “He sounds like he might be upset or something... Erm, I'm going to call him back...”

“You had better,” Gemma says, but Louis is already hitting the call button.

He hears the call get picked up, and then Harry gasps, “Louis?”

Louis sits up. “Harry? Are you okay? Where are you?”

“I can't do it,” Harry says breathlessly, speaking more quickly than Louis has heard him before. “I'm going to screw it all up. What if I go on stage and mess up and Queen Anne will see and everyone will be humiliated and it'll all be my fault because I wanted to stay on this stupid—”

“Shit, Harry, just take a breath there,” Louis interjects. “Okay, let's just focus on your breathing for a second here, okay? Forget the rest of that, okay, just take a deep breath in – yeah – and now out. That's good. In again...”

Louis coaches him for a few minutes until Harry's gotten his breathing under control. “Where are you now, Harry?”

“I'm in the loo. Niall's outside watching the door,” he answers quietly. “We're getting ready for the performance. I kinda freaked out. But Louis—”

“Harry, it's fine, it'll be fine. You're a great singer—”

“You don't know that!”

“What? Of course I do,” Louis laughs. “We found you because of the X Factor – didn't I tell you that? Gemma and I were watching, and she was telling me to pay attention to you and Niall because she liked you, and I looked at you and went, what the fuck, that guy looks like Gemma.”

“That's so weird! Are you serious?”

Louis grins. Harry sounds captivated by the story. “Yeah, when I saw you smile, I just knew.”

“I thought I looked like her, when I was little, but no one else ever thought so,” Harry confesses.

“Yeah, well, I see Gemma and Anne more often that most people, so I reckon I'm an expert.”

“Reckon so,” Harry says.

“Hey, they're really proud of you, we all are. Pretty sure Anne thinks you're the most perfect boy on Earth anyway. And you really are a good singer. Honestly, the worst case scenario is you miss a few notes and you get a little criticism, right? But you're young and inexperienced, people will be understanding. You're not going to ruin anything.”

“How can you be so sure?” Harry asks in a tiny voice.

“Easy. I know what I'm talking about. Look, I've dealt with being in the public eye, I've lived with people who are in the public eye. I know what it takes to unleash utter humiliation and ruin! Right? You believe me on that one, right?”

“Yeah, all right.”

“All right. And I know this isn't one of those situations. Unless you, like, uh, take your willy out and smack Simon in the face with it. Or snort a bunch of coke off the stage. Don't do that.”

“What ideas...”

“Oh, lord, what have I done.”

Harry giggles. It makes something flutter in Louis' stomach. “Thanks, Louis.”

“Anytime, Harry.” He hesitates, and then says, “You are welcome to call me, or text me, you know. I mean, I am busy sometimes, but I'll always talk to you if I can.”

“Thanks,” Harry says again, softly. “I should probably go.”

“Yeah, go get ready. You'll smash it, I know. Gemma and I are watching.”

“Yay,” Harry cheers quietly. “Bye, Lou.”

“Later, Harry.”

Louis pulls the phone away from his ear and stares blankly at the TV.

“Slap Simon Cowell with his willy? Why would you even say that?”

He startles, coming back to himself and realising that he just had that entire conversation in front of Gemma. He'd been so focused on Harry that he'd completely blocked out his surroundings. Gemma has seated herself in the armchair and is looking at him with raised eyebrows.

“It made him laugh,” Louis says defensively. “He was panicking, saying that he was going to humiliate you all on the show. I was just saying that he wouldn't.”

“Unless he snorted coke on the stage.”

“Did I say that?”

“You absolutely did! It sounded like you were coaching him through a panic attack.”

“I'm not sure he was at full-blown panic-attack levels yet, but, he certainly was working himself up into a state.”

“It was weird hearing that and not being the one panicking,” she says, tucking her legs up under herself. “You did good.”

“Thanks, Gems.” Louis smiles softly at her. Her saying that really means something. She would know, after all.

“I hope he's not as anxious as me. It sucks.”

“Yeah.” He holds out a hand to her. She takes it, and lets him give her hand a fond squeeze.

When the show does come on, he doesn't care about any of the other acts. He's on the edge of his seat, waiting for Harry and his band – they're called “One Direction” now. The others acts are all right. Well, probably. He forgets most of them the moment they leave the stage.

Then One Direction come on.

They're all dressed in shades of black, white, and grey, and objectively Liam and Niall are kind of cute, he supposes, but Harry is breathtaking. He's wearing a shirt that has some sort of weird shawl collar, and it's maybe a bit fashion-forward, but the way it frames Harry's face and accentuates his jaw line makes it work. His curls are glossy and dark, and his face is intent. He comes on stage like... like a baby tiger, Louis thinks wildly: serious, focused, stalking his goal, but not actually that capable or in control yet. It's more than a little endearing.

The performance is actually pretty good. The boys don't really command the stage – they stand in one place and they don't seem entirely sure what to do with their limbs – but they sing wonderfully and they're clearly pouring their hearts into the song.

“Wow,” Gemma says, as the last notes fade and the applause begins. “I mean obviously they're just starting out, but they really have something special here. They could go far.”

“Could they win?” Louis asks, alarmed.

Gemma shrugs. “Groups never do, so probably not. I'd reckon they have a shot, though.”

“God. They  _ can't _ win. I don't know how we'd get him out of that contract.” The thought is horrifying. Prince Harry chained to a Syco record contract – it'd be a disaster.

“Not much we can do about it now.”

“It's almost too bad I recognised him. They could've been a decent pop band.”

Gemma smacks him in the chest. “Oh my god! And Mum would still be heartbroken about her lost baby!”

“ _ Ow.  _ I didn't mean it! It was a joke!”

“Recognising him is the best thing you ever did, you dick!” She smacks him in the face with a pillow.

“I know, Jesus, get off me,  _ ow!” _


	7. Chapter 7

“Answer your bloody phone before we bloody murder you!”

“ _Ow_ ,” Harry whines as something hits him in the head. He cracks his eyes open to see his phone laying next to his face on the pillow. It's ringing. 7 AM. Who rings at 7 AM on Sunday?

It's an unknown number. He contemplates silencing it, but there are so many mysterious people who could legitimately be calling him these days. He tugs the duvet over his head to muffle the noise and presses to accept the call. “Hullo?” he mumbles.

“Harry! This is Sue. From the law offices of Williams and Fitzmaurice.”

She pauses. He grunts out an acknowledgement.

“Yes, good morning to you, too.” She sounds amused. “We've gotten the show to agree to release you from eight to noon on Sundays. There's quite a bit to discuss, and then Her Majesty would like to see you. There will be a car coming for you at 8 o'clock sharp. Got that?”

“Uh-huh,” he murmurs.

She tuts quietly. “I'm going to insist that you get up while I'm on the line.”

“Why?” he groans.

“Because my son is just about your age, and I know that if I wake him and leave him in bed, he goes right back to sleep. You want to clean yourself up and look your best for seeing Her Majesty, don't you?”

“Do we have to call her Her Majesty?”

“Oh, dear. Yes, we do, especially in a polite conversation, like this one.”

“7 AM calls aren't polite. Okay, I'm sitting up now.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Cross my heart. 'Bye.”

He groans, rubbing his eyes. The adrenaline high after their performance hadn't let any of them sleep until far too late last night. Sundays are supposed to be rest days, as they were past their performance but didn't know yet whether they would be staying on and needing to prepare for the next week's. He's honestly not sure why it took this long to get them to agree to let him go on Sundays.

By the time 8 o'clock rolls around, he's reasonably presentable: freshly showered, dressed in nice jeans and a button-down, hair as controlled as it gets. He hopes that meeting with the Queen in jeans is all right. He's seen pictures of Louis and Gemma in denim. Their jeans are probably designer ones that cost several times what his did, but he thinks he looks fine.

A few of the older contestants are awake and nibbling on breakfast as he leaves. They watch him curiously, but he darts through quickly and manages to avoid any questions. Sue from the phone call earlier is waiting for him in the back of the car, it turns out, and she doesn't say anything about his outfit, so he feels a bit better about that.

“Nice to meet you,” he says, shaking her hand. She's a neatly-dressed woman in her fifties with her honey-colored hair in a crisp bob. She looks very efficient, he thinks, and she quickly proves herself so by launching into business.

“Since we only have a few hours with you, I thought I'd just get started with briefing you during the drive. Is that all right? Oh, I did bring you a tea. Here.”

“Oh, cheers. Yeah, please, go ahead.”

“All right. So here's the situation. First of all, your contract is completely invalid. Since you're a minor, your parents signed it too, but because their adoption of you wasn't actually legal, they can't actually make legal decisions for you like that. Also your contract is for an Irish citizen, but of course you're actually a UK citizen, so it's all wrong from that angle as well. So extricating you from the contract will be fairly trivial, although knowing Syco they'll probably drag us to court, but we'll win. Of course, none of that can happen until we're ready to announce the truth of the situation, that's the real sticking point. The way we got this time from them, by the way, was by telling them that their contract was actually invalid and we'd blow it up and pull you from the show entirely if they didn't give us what we wanted. They demanded proof and we refused it, and they demanded to rectify the contract and we refused _that_ – that's what took so long, there was a lot of back-and-forth demanding.”

“So... you are pulling me from the show, then?”

“Well, we certainly can if that's what you want, but I understand that it was important to you to remain. Our compromise is that you may remain on the show, but if you were to win, you'd be obligated to sign a record deal, and at that point we would intercede and pull you out of that contract.”

“Huh.” He frowns. “If I left the show, would Niall and Liam go too, or do they get to stay?”

“As far as I can tell, that's at the show's discretion. Your contracts are all entirely separate. I can't predict what the producers would do.”

Harry chews on his thumb. “I don't need to decide right away, right? I can talk to Liam and Niall about it first?”

She thinks, and then nods. “As long as you're careful not to tell Liam anything he's not to know yet, yes.”

“Okay. That'd be good, I think.”

“All right. You just let us know if you decide you want to leave the show. I think you could do that at any time; all that legal wrangling will give us enough time to get our metaphorical ducks in a row. Now, as far as announcing you as the Prince, I think we can have that ready to go as soon as a week from now – we're dealing with some high-level negotiations with the Irish government, they're not very happy about us quote-stealing one of their citizens-unquote, but they'll come round. We're getting the pieces ready and it'll all be set to go once you're done with the show and everyone agrees it's the right time.”

“Wow.” Harry takes a steadying drink of his tea. He could suddenly become a prince in a week. Weird. Weird, weirder, the weirdest.

“Got all that?” She smiles at him.

He huffs out a laugh. “That was a lot. But it's good to know. Yeah. Thanks.”

“You're very welcome, Your Royal Highness.”

He splutters, blushing when he realises that he's just sprayed a bit of tea on the seat in front of him. “What?!”

“Thought I'd give you a taste of that.” She chuckles. “That's the proper form of address for a prince, by the way. Although only the first time someone addresses you in conversation. After that they can just say 'sir.' Similarly, with Her Majesty the Queen, you only call her 'Your Majesty' once, and after that you just say 'ma'am.'”

He wrinkles his nose. “Just 'ma'am' doesn't sound very regal at all.”

“Honestly. Just ma'am. That won't really apply to you, but you'll probably need to be able to instruct other people.”

He lets his head fall back against the seat. “This is so weird.”

“If it makes you feel any better, this sort of formal address is something you really only have to deal with at formal events. Louis and Gemma tend not to insist on it in less-formal settings and it works out fine for them. It's important with Her Majesty the Queen, but you can be a bit more casual about it for yourself if you like, and of course it's not necessary in any sort of private, informal situation.”

“Well. That's good, at least.”

As soon as they arrive at Kensington Palace, he's introduced to a small team of royal staff. Myrna, a short, white-haired woman, is the head of public relations. She briskly introduces herself but soon rushes off to tend to other matters, assuring him that “You're in good hands with Jon.”

Jon is a slender, brown-haired fellow who looks to be in his mid-30s, also involved in PR as well as the household management. He has an assistant,  a younger man with thick dark hair and chiselled features, whom he introduces as 'the Honourable Lucas Talbot.'

The title confuses Harry. He asks, “What does that Honourable part mean? Isn't that for, like, a judge?”

“Jumping right into it!” Jon laughs. “Come, sit, please. The plan was to start with a bit of an etiquette lesson anyway so we might as well start there. Luke, do you want to explain?”

“Yeah, sure.” Luke smiles easily. “So, my father is a Count. My older brother is the heir and he's a Viscount in his own right, and he'll inherit our father's title eventually. I don't have a title like that, but I'm properly called The Honourable because I'm part of a noble family. My children, though, won't have any title. Well, unless I marry someone else who's got a title to pass down.”

“Huh.” Harry considers this. “Would my children have titles? Would they, be, like, prince or princess whatever?”

“They wouldn't be princes or princesses, no, and they don't receive any title automatically. They could and probably would be given a courtesy title or style. That gets complicated quickly; you'll cross that bridge when you come to it.”

Jon frowns. “It's not clear that your children would be considered legitimate anyway.”

“What, why? Oh, because I'm gay?” Harry asks. Jon nods. “But we've got marriage equality now—”

“Yes, but your children won't be biologically both yours and your hypothetical husband's, and it's not at all clear how that would play out. Adopted children don't inherit titles. It's a bit of a muddle, frankly. It won't get resolved unless something forces the situation.” Jon shrugs.

“Sorry. That must feel a bit awful, but try to set it aside for now,” Luke says gently. “It's not like you'll have to deal with that any time soon.”

For the next two hours, he learns about royal etiquette and starts getting briefed on people he needs to know about. There's a head-spinning array of titles, rules, and sprawling family trees that are baffling to keep straight. He doesn't have to memorise it all immediately, at least – they give him piles of papers, like a study guide, and he gets stern orders to revise during the week. He stares at the documents and says, “I don't know how I'm going to find the time to learn all this. Or the privacy.”

“Well, just do your best. That's been enough for the day, I'm sure. Now, next on the agenda is a formal luncheon with Her Majesty.”

“But it's ten in the morning.”

Luke shrugs. “Well, you have to leave by 11:30 to get back to the house, but Her Majesty wants to give you some experience with formal dining. Are you not hungry yet?”

“I'm 17, of course I'm hungry, but... I don't know anything about formal dining.”

“It's fine,” Jon laughs. “It'll just be us and Her Majesty. You won't get beheaded if you use the wrong fork.”

It's a surprisingly nice experience, actually. There are five courses, served on fine china with a dazzling array of silverware. The room they're in is relatively small and humble compared to other rooms he's seen at the palace, probably chosen to put him at ease. It's a nice gesture, but it doesn't work. Harry worries that he's going to mess up, do the wrong thing, or say the wrong thing to Queen Anne.  The entire situation is intimidating enough that he finds it a bit hard to eat. Fortunately, the posh food is served in dainty portions. 

Luke sits next to Harry and coaches him quietly. He never seems judgemental – occasionally amused, yes, but not in a cruel way. The conversation is a bit less awkward than his last chat with Anne. It helps, probably, to have Jon and Luke there as a buffer.

“You all seem very familiar with each other,” Harry observes.

“I've been working for the palace for more than ten years now,” Jon says proudly.

“I haven't been with the household quite that long,” Luke says, “But I met Gemma at school, so I've been friends with her and Louis for... well, we met when I was in year nine, and she was in year seven, so that's, what, eight years now? I graduated from uni last spring, and took this job right after, so I’ve only been formally assisting the family for a few months.”

Luke reveals that they'd all watched the X Factor together the night before. “You were very good, Harry!” Anne says brightly. “It was quite a spectacle, wasn't it?”

“It was pretty crazy. All the lights, I mean, even the stage lights up! It's really elaborate.”

“Niall looked like he was having the time of his life,” Jon chuckles. “You were very serious, though.”

“Was I? I hardly remember it, it went by so fast.” Harry hesitates, but then admits, “I had a bit of stage fright, beforehand, so I was trying hard to keep it together and do well, I guess.”

Anne cocks her head thoughtfully. “You know that I didn't want you being on that show, but having experience in front of a crowd like that – actually, it will help you a lot, later on. You're getting that experience without all the extra pressure of your position. This might actually be quite good for you.”

“You might want to work on those dance moves a little, though,” Luke snickers. “What was that, that little shoulder-pop-shimmy thing?”

“I was trying to look cool,” Harry says. “Was it that bad?”

“It wasn't,” Anne says, frowning at Luke. “Just needs a bit more practice to look more natural. That'll come in time, I'm sure. Do you have choreographers or dance coaches?”

To his surprise, Harry is actually a little disappointed when the lunch ends. It was far more pleasant than he'd expected. Jon and Luke give Harry their phone numbers and urge him to call or text if he has any questions, and then he's whisked back to the X Factor house – on his own in the car, for once, aside from the driver.

Just as he's staring at his phone, wondering who to text to entertain himself, his phone buzzes with a new message.

**Louis to Harry, 11:18 AM  
** _Heard you got to meet Luke! He's a good lad. Hope you got on. Gems says hi_

**Harry to Louis, 11:19 AM  
** _Hi to Gemma! Yea Luke was great. I was surprised to meet someone so young. He was super helpful tho, made sure i didn't use the wrong spoon and stuff_

**Harry to Louis, 11:20 AM  
** _He's also outrageously handsome isnt he. Why is he teaching me about which one is the dessert spoon, he ought t be a model or sthing_

**Louis to Harry, 11:22 AM  
** _I can't believe they're starting out with dining etiquette, how incredibly dull_

**Louis to Harry, 11:22 AM  
** _IMO what you need is media training bc the press is gonna go NUTS when this gets out. You're not gonna have to deal with state dinners for a while yet_

**Louis to Harry, 11:24 AM  
** _btw Luke does have a girlfriend so dont get your hopes up_

**Harry to Louis, 11:26 AM  
** _it was just an observation!  
_ _I don't just go around making passes at every guy. Esp not ones who technically sort of... work for... my family???_

**Harry to Louis, 11:30 AM  
** _Anyway I should call my parents before I get back to the house_

 

* * *

 

Waiting through the results show is torture. But soon enough it's over, and they're through, in _fourth_ place. Fourth! Fourth out of sixteen! “We're in the top quarter!” Liam informs them excitedly.

Harry wrinkles his nose. “Why are you doing maths? Just be happy!”

“I am happy!” Liam laughs delightedly and flings himself onto the couch, or rather onto Harry and Niall's laps. They hug and chatter excitedly, recapping everything they did, strategising about how they'll do better this week.

Harry thinks guiltily that he needs to discuss the contracts situation with Liam, now that they are through for another week. He's derailed from that train of thought when his phone buzzes, though. He sees delighted congratulations from his parents, and notices that Niall has his phone out too, presumably seeing the same message. He also notices an earlier message that he missed.

**Louis to Harry, 10:03 PM  
** _CONGRATULATIONS! from me & gemma _

Harry grins. It's kind of a generic message, but he's so thrilled. Louis has texted him _twice_ today. He needs to think of something clever to send back.

“Who's got you smiling at your phone like that?” Liam pokes Harry in one of his dimples, looking up at him curiously.

“No one,” Harry says quickly.

“You're blushing,” Niall snickers.

“So...” Liam waggles his eyebrows. “Is he cute?”

“ _So_ cute,” Harry sighs dreamily. “I mean, what, no.”

“Someone from home?” Liam presses.

“Not exactly. It doesn't matter. I'm sure he's straight. Well. Probably.”

“What do you mean, probably?!” Niall squeaks. Liam quirks an eyebrow at him. Niall's shock must sound like a bit of an overreaction to Liam, but Niall's just peeked at Harry's mobile and knows the texter's identity, unlike Liam.

“Well, I mean, when I met him, I said that I was gay, unlike him, and he didn't correct me,” Harry explains slowly. “But I don't know. I feel like I get a little bit of, like, a vibe from him. Maybe I'm just seeing what I want to see, though?”

Niall tilts his head from side to side, considering. “Yeah, hard to say. You've got pretty good instincts. Not always. But sometimes.”

“Thanks, Nialler. I think.”

“Why not just ask him out and see where it goes?” Liam suggests guilelessly.

“Oh my god not a chance,” Harry laughs in a rush. “If... oh, it would be a disaster.”

Liam shrugs. “Well, if you don't try, you'll never know.”

“So wise, young Liam,” Harry intones fondly, patting Liam's head. “Okay, should I text him back?”

“What'd he say to you?” Liam asks.

“Just congratulations. For staying on, I assume.”

“That's what had you smiling like an idiot? That's, like, nothing to go on at all,” Niall complains.

“Weak,” Liam agrees.

Harry groans, and just texts back “ _Thanks!! xx_ ”.

 

* * *

 

Monday is a fairly smooth day – they choose a few possible songs, run through them a few times, and pick a favourite. They have fun and they're not absolutely knackered by the evening.

They're sprawled in the bean bag room, watching some of the others play video games, when Harry finally musters up the courage to clear his throat and say, “Hey, guys? Liam and Niall? Can we talk in our room for a minute?”

Niall, dozing on a bean bag, cracks an eye open. “What's up, Haz?”

Harry just gets up and waves them out into the hallway. Liam snatches up a bag of crisps and the two follow him back to their room. They sit close together on the floor, which requires moving a bunch of clothing out of the way, and Harry explains to them what his situation means for them.

“Basically... okay, I'm honestly really sorry, Liam, that I can't tell you all the details here. What I think I can tell you is, the thing last week where I was gone, what happened is, my birth family found me.” Liam gasps, but doesn't interrupt. “And they're, like, really powerful, and they don't really approve of me being on the show. Though they're coming around on that. But I think they think it's, like, beneath me? Or not respectable or something. They can basically pull me out of the show anytime. But I asked to stay on and they said okay to that. But there's no way they'll let me continue on after the show. If we won, they'd get my contract cancelled. I really don't know what any of that would mean for you two. Like, if I left the show, maybe they'd keep you as a duo, but maybe they'd kick you off. Same for the recording contract. My, erm, my family's lawyers said it's all up to the show producers.”

Liam's wide-eyed, stunned. He whispers, “So is your birth family, like... _the mafia_?”

“What?” Harry laughs incredulously. “Why would you think 'mafia'?”

“Powerful, influential, mysterious and you can't talk about them, they have the leverage to get you out of a contract...”

“He's got a good point,” Niall shrugs.

“Well. I'm sure I couldn't say,” Harry says primly, in a precise imitation of the Queen's accent that makes Niall snicker. “But seriously. It seems like I'll never get to be in a real band with you guys, and I'm really sorry about that. That's not what I want, but. I have other responsibilities now. You need to think about what you want, now that you know that.”

Liam frowns. “But it's not right that these people gave you up, and now they're coming back into your life and telling you what to do! I think you should tell them to piss off, frankly. How can they do this to you?! It's your life and it should be your choice!”

Harry's strangely touched by Liam's fervour. The other boy seems honestly outraged on Harry's behalf – and not _at_ Harry, which is a pleasant change as well. “I wish I could explain more because it would make a lot more sense. I mean, I _can_ sign my own contracts when I'm 18, and they're not going to, like, have me killed over it, and I could change my mind and go against them once I'm 18, I guess, but... I'm not sure I would. Li, it's really complicated. It'd really hurt them, I think, and it would just, erm, not be a good idea, I don't think. They're not bad people, they just... kind of live in a different world?”

“Well, crap.” Liam sighs. He scrubs a hand through his hair and stares at the floor. “Okay... Well, my opinion, I do want to continue on with the show. As all of us, because like you said, if you leave they might kick us out too. More exposure, more training – I think it'll help a lot even if I'm just hustling for a solo career afterwards, you know?”

“Absolutely,” Harry says fiercely. “I swear, I'll stay on and try as hard as I can to stay if that's what you want. I like you, Liam. I never wanted to screw you over.”

“Yeah. Thanks, Harry.” He sighs. “I mean, we probably won't win anyway, as a group, so. But we'll give it our all until then, yeah?”

Harry smiles sadly. “Yeah, Liam. We will.”


	8. Chapter 8

Louis has just gotten back from his first acting class and he's over the moon.

A few years back, he'd tried it, but the drama teacher told him he was too inhibited. Inhibitions could be overcome, she'd said, but if his came from fear of embarrassing his family or a sense that he had to adhere to propriety because of who he was, well, that might be an external barrier that he was stuck with, not an internal block that he could conquer. She'd been right about that and he'd quit before the term was over.

But now, he could taste freedom. In a few months, he'd just be Louis Tomlinson again. Maybe he could actually pursue his greatest passions now, and not just the interests that were suitable for his station. He isn't free yet, and he's not completely sure what he'll do once that day comes. For now, what he can explore is acting.

He loves it. He'd felt electric on stage, even though the only people watching were his classmates and his teacher. He loved the sense that he was shedding his skin and inhabiting someone else's. The teacher had advised him that he was just a _tad_ exuberant for that particular role, but he had a real knack for feeling the character. He thought that was pretty good for a beginner. He'd improve – that was the whole point of taking lessons, right?

Relaxing into the couch, his mind was full of daydreams. He could do Shakespeare at the Globe. He could be on Broadway! He could be a Hollywood star. He'd come out and he'd still win an Oscar. He could travel the world, live everywhere, do whatever he wants. Maybe he'd still have to take care with his image in that future, but if he messed up, it'd only hurt his career, not the entire monarchy.

He feels restless. Only a few months. Ten weeks if the boys make it to the final. He can wait. After nearly eighteen years, ten weeks is nothing, he tells himself sternly.

He calls his mum to tell her about it – his real mum, Jay. She's cooking dinner but she lets him chatter, murmuring distractedly and occasionally hollering at one of the girls to _stop pinching your sister_ or _don't eat that, dinner'll be ready soon!_ It's homey and sweet.

Soon enough, she has to go and serve the food. She tells him she loves him and she's proud of him, and then she hangs up. He stills feel a bit lonely – Gemma is out with friends for the evening, so he's alone in the flat. He texts idly with Luke to check on any news from home and flips the telly on to some boring program he doesn't care about.

He itches to text Harry, and he mentally smacks himself when he realises. He's trying very hard _not_ to think about Harry, but the boy keeps popping up in his mind. He'd looked like such a goober on stage. But an extremely sexy goober. That hair, those eyes, his figure, his sweet smiles, the way he shyly ducks his head and adjusts his fringe...

“God damn it.” Mooning over the lad who was supposed to be like a brother to him is not how he wants to spend his time. Louis surges up off the couch and goes to find his running clothes. He doesn't love running, but he does it because he loves football and he likes being fit enough to play. And, at times like this, it clears his mind. He can focus on the burning in his lungs and muscles, the rhythm of his feet on the pavements, the wind in his face. Clarity, focus, that's what he needs.

It doesn't work.

Well, it sort of works. He feels better _while_ he's running. But when he gets home, he sits back _down_ in front of his laptop, still all sweaty, and he googles “Harry Horan.”

This is a new low.

All the boys are all over Tumblr, but Harry especially. They've made gifs of every second he's been on the show. It's kind of fascinating, and also a little bit sad, because there's just not that much material here, and these girls (they all seem to be girls) are so fixated on so little.

Okay, _Louis_ might be a little fixated on Harry, but at least he's met the guy.

He should just text him instead of staring at gifs of him on the internet. Texting is much less creepy. It occurs to him, though, that he initiated the last two text conversations. Isn't it Harry's turn? Shouldn't he worry about coming on too strong? (In a friendship way, of course. He isn't _coming on_ to Harry. That would be weird.)

He groans and flops back to lay on the couch. He's a disaster.

 

* * *

 

“Is it too soon to text him?” Harry whispers to Liam.

“We're supposed to be learning about social media management. Stop thinking about your dumb boyfriend,” Liam hisses back.

“He's not my boyfriend.”

“Because you're too chicken to text him.” The fact that Liam manages to snap while still speaking too quietly for the instructor to hear is an accomplishment. “It's not too soon, just do it and shut up.”

“Thaaaanks, Li.” Harry leans over and kisses Liam on the cheek, which the instructor does notice. She glares at them. Harry smiles back innocently.

Once she's back to her lecture, Harry starts the staring contest with his phone. To his disappointment, it doesn't magically produce a witty message. He types out a bunch of different attempts, but deletes them all. Liam sighs, snatches the phone out of his hand, types _Hi_ , presses send, and slides the phone back to Harry.

Harry glares at him. His face feels hot and uncomfortable. “Not okay, mate,” he hisses angrily. What if Liam had seen a message mentioning Gemma, and put two and two together? Logic says Liam would _not_ automatically think that Harry was texting the Prince and Princess, but logic has nothing against blind panic.

The phone buzzes. Liam pumps his arm victoriously and smirks at Harry's frown. Harry braces himself and checks the phone.

**Louis to Harry, 3:18 PM  
** _Hello !_

**Louis to Harry, 3:21 PM  
** _?_

**Harry to Louis, 3:22 PM  
** _We're learning about 'proper use of social media'. it's rlly boring_

**Louis to Harry, 3:23 PM  
** _Sounds like a valuable learning experience that you arent appreciating_

**Harry to Louis, 3:23 PM  
** _:(_

**Harry to Louis, 3:24 PM  
** _noooo pity me_

**Louis to Harry, 3:27 PM  
** _Poor Curly . It's a tough life isn't it_

**Harry to Louis, 3:29 PM  
** _Now that's more like it.  
_ _What are you doing??_

**Louis to Harry, 3:33 PM  
** _Revising. English ! We're reading Jane Austen, can you believe it?_

**Harry to Louis, 3:34 PM  
** _Oi nothing wrong with that. Don't u love a good romantic story? Oooo Mr Darcy_

**Louis to Harry, 3:36 PM  
** _Oh my god I just choked on my tea  
_ _I can jst imagine you saying that hahahaha_

**Harry to Louis, 3:37 PM  
** ;D

**Louis to Harry, 3:46 PM  
** _ok but Colin Firth or the one from the movie with Keira Knightley_

**Harry to Louis, 3:47 PM  
** _Now that's more like it!!  
_ _Colin Firth OBVIOUSLY_

**Harry to Louis, 3:49 PM  
** _don't be ashamed of loving Mr. Darcy_

**Louis to Harry, 3:52 PM  
** _it was just a question & who said anything about ashamed_

**Harry to Louis, 3:53 PM  
** _why'd it take you like 10 minutes to come up with that question then_

**Louis to Harry, 3:56 PM  
** _I told you im revising !! I'm a very busy man Harry_

**Harry to Louis, 3:58 PM  
** _Right . . ._

 

* * *

 

“Oh my god – Kelly Clarkson?”

“Hey, it's a fun song!”

“How come only Liam gets solos? Harry and Niall are good singers too!”

“Oh, no, what was that, Harry? He's such a dork!” Gemma groans.

“He's so cute,” Louis whines.

“Wait, what?” Gemma turns to stare at him.

“I mean... I just wish I could give him a hug! A brotherly hug,” Louis says defensively. “Because they did good.”

Gemma narrows her eyes at him.

“ _I can't even cope with how cute you are... I just want to go up and hug them! In a nice way,_ ” Cheryl Cole says on the screen.

“See. Cheryl gets me.” 

“You're being so defensive.” She eyes him suspiciously. Suddenly, she jabs her finger into his chest. “Do _not_ bang my baby brother.”

“What! Who said anything about... what the hell.” Louis sputters. He feels the heat in his face and has the sinking feeling that his stupid blush is betraying him.

“Oh my god, no wonder you look like such a dope when he texts you.” A grin slowly grows on her face. “Oh my god, Louis' got a crush on a pop star.”

“He's not a pop star, he's just a contestant on a stupid show.” Louis sinks into the couch and prays it will swallow him whole.

“A stupid show for future pop stars,” Gemma sing-songs.

“This family won't let him be a pop star anyway.” Louis grabs a cushion from the couch and buries his flaming face in it.

“Well, thanks for that, Debbie Downer,” Gemma mutters. He startles when he feels her arms wrap around him. “Love you, Lou-lou. I'll never forgive you if you do anything with baby brother, but I'll still love you.”

“You're disgusting,” he grumbles, muffled by the pillow. He really wishes she'd stop talking about this. Except that he's pretty sure that she's being supportive, in a gross older sister kind of way, which is sort of okay.

A few days later, though, over a lovely pasta dinner that Gemma prepared for them, Louis complains, “But I didn't even come out.”

Gemma raises her eyebrows. “I mean, you're kind of obvious, Lou.”

He groans. “Isn't there supposed to be, like, a code of silence? Like, you don't ask until I tell you? Isn't that that American thing?”

“No, that's not what 'that American thing' is,” Gemma says slowly. “Hey, I am sorry if I hurt your feelings. It didn't seem like you were trying to hide it really.”

“I was, though.”

She giggles. “Sorry, I'm just thinking, so those acting classes aren't paying off yet. Don't worry, little Louis, you'll get there.”

“Oi, don't patronise me.”

“But you've got a crush. I can't _not_. That's big sister rules. Especially because it's Harry, which is so weird and gross.”

“This is the worst.” He picks up his plate, suddenly resolved to finish eating in his room.

“Say hi to Harry for me!” Gemma calls as he walks down the hall. “And tell him to text his _actual_ sibling sometime! Or call me!”

Just for that, he doesn't mention her at all when he texts Harry whilst finishing his spaghetti.


	9. Chapter 9

The days grow shorter and colder. With every week, another act is eliminated from the show, but One Direction cling on – never worse than fourth place, but never better than third. Their skills and confidence grow through the weeks, but those of their opponents do as well.

Spending Sunday mornings at Kensington palace begins to feel a bit less strange to Harry. It's far from normal or routine, but after several weeks, it's not alien anymore. He even gets his own apartment, along with an interior designer who's full of ideas for how to redesign and redecorate it. He can't actually spend the night there, but he can check in on it and imagine that someday he _could_ sleep in that bedroom, and receive guests in that little parlour. He's not sure that he wants to, but he probably will.

He gets to know the little core of household staff who are permitted to know about him, and he learns about all sorts of people that he apparently needs to know: nobles, politicians, various high-society types. He even starts to get that media training that Louis had insisted on. He finds it very cynical and somewhat upsetting, although Jon from public relations doesn't see it that way at all.

It only takes him three weeks to finally work up the courage to ask about his father.

“Erm, hey, so. Am I ever going to meet my dad?”

“Ah.” Anne sighs like she's been expecting this question. “Yes, of course, Desmond.”

“Right... Do you still talk to him? Am I going to meet him? Have you told him?”

“I haven't. Which I'm sure sounds awful to you, but let me explain.” She takes a deep breath. “Well, I should just explain it all, I suppose. He left me a few months after we lost you. It was... Well, his way of coping, I suppose, was to pretend you'd never existed at all. He wasn't there when I gave birth, you see – you were early and he was out of town – so he never held you or even saw you. To me, carrying you inside me, you were so real to me from the first time I felt you move in my womb, but it wasn't the same for him.”

Harry tries not to squirm in his discomfort. He's never really thought about the fact that he literally _came out of_ the _Queen._ It's just too weird.

“That was very hurtful to me. He wanted me to move on and be normal again. I wanted him to _care._ So.” She shakes her head. “I'm not sure it would have worked out between us anyway. We got married quite young, you know. It was so passionate, but it was impulsive. We didn't have a good foundation. I don't think he understood how hard it would be to be married to me. I wasn't the Queen yet then, but my father was already quite ill and I did have a lot more duties than Gemma does at almost that same age.”

She sighs, and pauses for a long moment. Harry ventures to ask, “So... I mean, I know he's not around, like, publicly, but are you still in touch with him? Is Gemma?”

“Gemma, yes, they speak. Not often, from what I understand, but a few phone calls a year, anyway. They've never been close, unfortunately. She was so young when he left. He and I haven't spoken in, oh, years, I suppose. He's remarried – they live up north and have had a few children, last I heard. So...” She sighs again. “He'll be happy to hear about you and to meet you, but he's not part of our trusted inner circle, do you see what I mean? I don't expect him to have a lot of loyalty to us, and I don't think it's wise to tell him too soon. We'll arrange for you to meet later, if you like.”

“Oh. Uh. All right. I mean, I would... like to, yeah. What do you mean, you don't trust him, though?” Harry frowns. “You really think he'd tell other people?”

Anne tsks sharply. “He's spoken to the press about me before.” She doesn't say anything else, her body gone tense.

Harry grimaces; he'd forgotten about that. Desmond gossiping about his ex-wife, the queen, had been big news at the time, but Harry had been quite young then. He nods and says quietly, “Okay. Later, then, yeah.”

He and Anne ease towards being comfortable with one another. The barriers of politeness and unfamiliarity erode a little more each week, and they talk more easily. In the fifth week, he tentatively hugs her good-bye. She cries and hugs him back for so long that he's late returning to the X Factor house. It's okay.

He keeps texting with Louis. He doesn't tell anyone else much about that, though Niall gets an earful sometimes when he can't hold it back anymore. He does try harder to hide it from Liam, though – that boy is turning out to be a serious romantic and a major meddler.

He starts texting with Gemma, too – a message chain which starts with his grovelling apology, when he suddenly realises what a jerk he's been, talking to Anne and Louis regularly and hardly interacting with Gemma at all. It's been so easy to get caught up in Louis and to let himself ignore how scared he is to talk to Gemma. He soon finds that his sister is hilarious, though, clever and sharp. They have similar taste in music and films, and they start to bond surprisingly quickly in conversations about that. He even gets to Skype with Gemma and Louis sometimes, when he can find a quiet and private enough moment. They're so fun, so funny together, obviously very dear friends. He wishes he could talk to them more. Once the X Factor whirlwind is over, he will, he supposes.

 

* * *

 

“Lou!” Gemma yells, flinging open the door to Louis' room with such enthusiasm that it slams against the wall.

“Jesus!” Louis yelps, jerking and nearly upsetting his chair.

“Guess—what are those?” Louis tries to swat her hand away, but she holds him back and plucks a pile of brochures from his desk. “New York University, University of California, University of Sydney... Going somewhere?”

“Ugh, stop snooping, no, I was just looking.”

Gemma raises her eyebrows. “Oh, these brochures just wandered in here?”

Louis sighs and rubs his face. “I guess... I've just been thinking about what I could do, once I'm not playing the prince anymore. I don't know what I want to do. I'm just, I don't know, brainstorming. I feel like anything is possible, you know? I suppose it's not really. But it's... I don't know.”

She leans a hip against his desk and frowns down at him. “Are you really thinking about moving away somewhere?”

Louis shrugs, swivelling back and forth in his chair. “No. I mean, not really? It's tempting, you know, thinking of, like, making a fresh start somewhere. But, I mean, no. That'd be crazy.”

“Right... Don't rush into some decision, okay? I mean there's a lot of time to figure out what you want. And we're all here for you. You should figure out your life here first before you go globe-trotting or whatever, you know?”

“Yeah, no, you're right. Er, so what did you come in here for?”

She sighs and sets the brochure down on his desk. “I'm here to talk about this whenever you need to, Louis, seriously. But, fine. You've kind of taken the wind out of my sails here but I was coming in to tell you about our plans for revision week.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “What plans? Revising? Got that on my calendar already, thanks.”

“No, you swot. We're going down to London to see the week eight live show!”

“Wait, we can do that?” he asks excitedly.

“Yeah, Luke's arranging it. Which I suppose must mean he cleared it with Mum. Whatever. We're going! We'll leave Saturday morning, okay?”

“Yeah, fine. Should I tell Haz?”

“I think it'll be more fun if it's a surprise. Don't you?” She grins. “I'm sure he's clever enough to pretend not to know us if we talk in front of others.”

“True.” Louis nods sagely. “I feel like we should give him a _tiny_ hint, though.”

 

* * *

 

“ _'_ _Make sure you put on your p-p-p-p-poker face for tonight. xx L & G _ . _'_   What does that even mean?” Harry glares at his phone.

“What weirdos,” Niall says. “We're not supposed to be poker-faced, we're supposed to be performing and emoting and shit.”

 

* * *

 

The shot of the Princess of Wales and her brother Prince Louis in the X Factor audience doesn't cause more than a slight ripple in the audience. Many of the viewers exclaim excitedly when they see those familiar faces, spliced in for just a few seconds during One Direction's performance. No one thinks very deeply about the huge smile on Prince Louis' face; they just laugh at the way he startles when Princess Gemma pinches him. _Typical sibling rivalry!_ they say, and _how nice to see them supporting new artists_ _,_ and _come on, as if royals watch X Factor, why are they even there?_

There are no interviews with the prince and princess, and no statements from the palace, so no one really knows why the two were there, but that's not terribly remarkable. They're young people living their lives. They've been spotted at concerts before, even music festivals. Nothing special here.

 

* * *

 

Gemma and Louis refuse to appear on camera except for any shots of them in the audience – they can't exactly insist on no filming occurring during the filming of the show. They firmly refuse to do any interview but they do agree to meet with the performers as long as it isn't filmed. Louis thinks it's a bit bizarre that they had to do any negotiating for this at all, but “Cowell always plays hardball,” Luke sighs.

It's fine, though. They have plenty of experience at this sort of thing. Smile, shake the hands, reassure them that they don't have to have their etiquette perfect, give each of them a little compliment on their performance. At this point, all of those still in the competition are quite talented, so it's not hard to say something honestly kind.

What is hard is not throwing his arms around Harry and carrying him off. Harry, bless him, looks suitably starstruck, as if he hadn't already met Louis and Gemma. “You're here,” he says in a stunned voice, gently shaking their hands.

Liam laughs out loud, knocking his shoulder against Harry's. “I'm so sorry, Your, erm, Highnesses? Harry here gets a little socially awkward sometimes. It's such an honour to meet you.”

“Strong work on your solo as always, Liam,” Louis says politely, shaking the offered hand. “And the other Mr. Horan! A pleasure to meet you as well.” He smiles at Niall. He's grown rather fond of Niall, just because of how much Harry loves him.

“It's an honour, sir,” Niall answers, shaking his hand, “And an honour as well, Your Highness,” he continues, shaking Gemma's hand and winking at her. She laughs, and Louis could swear he hears her murmur “cheeky one” under her breath.

Their bodyguard ushers them out quickly, before they have any real opportunity to chat. It's just as well – it wouldn't do for them to show favouritism to One Direction.

 **Louis to Harry, 11:33 PM  
** _Sorry to dash... sure u understand. See you tmrw morning !_

 **Harry to Louis, 11:50 PM  
** _Thx for coming. LOL I get thepoker face thing now. Liam cant stop talking about you gys! see you soon :) xx_

 

* * *

 

 **Louis to Harry, 2:02 AM  
** _Are you awake ???_

Harry blinks blearily at his phone.

 **Harry to Louis, 2:04 AM  
** _???? Went to bed like an hour ago._

 **Louis to Harry, 2:05 AM  
** _I woke you? Sorry  
_ _Can you sneak out ?_

 **Harry to Louis, 2:06 AM  
** _Uhhhh. Maybe. Why??_

 **Louis to Harry, 2:06 AM  
** _I'm down the block. Black car. Four houses to the right from the front gate._

Harry feels like his heart is going to beat out of his chest. It's so fast and so loud in his ears that for a brief moment, he fears it could wake Liam and Niall. Louis wants him to sneak out for a 2 AM rendezvous. “What the fuck,” he whispers.

He pulls on a pair of track pants, but they look obscene with the semi he's suddenly sporting. Well, that's just embarrassingly, excessively hopeful. He hopes the cold air will calm that situation down, but then he'll see Louis for their _secret post-midnight rendezvous_ so he's not at all sure he can count on that. His jeans are uncomfortably restrictive, but jeans, a long shirt, and a coat help him look a bit more less like a teenager walking around with a hard-on. He _is_ , but he doesn't want Louis to know that.

He sneaks out through the garage and heads to the side of the yard far from the gate where he knows there's a tall tree. The fence itself seems difficult to scale, but the tree gets him high enough up that he can haul himself onto the top of the fence, and from there it's just a drop down to the other side. He keeps his knees flexed and lands fairly softly. He pauses for a moment, but no one raises a cry.

He crosses to the other side of the street to pass their house in the shadows there. There is a night watchman on the gate who he needs to avoid. Once he's past the house, he breaks into a shuffling jog.

There aren't any other cars parked along this road – all the houses here are mansions, or close enough, all with huge driveways and garages. There's just one car, sleek and black and dark, waiting.

The passenger side door opens as Harry approaches. He slides into the front seat and pulls the door quietly closed, then turns to stare at Louis.

The other boy is still wearing his suit trousers from earlier, but he's shed his blazer. The top few buttons of shirt are undone, and his sleeves are rolled up around his elbows. His summer tan is fading and his hair is falling out of its earlier style, but he looks gorgeous.

“Hi,” Louis says, smiling shyly. “You look all sleepy.” He raises a hand and gently brushes some of Harry's hair out of his face.

“I am all sleepy,” Harry answers slowly, smiling back. “You woke me up.”

“Yeah. I didn't really think about that. Sorry. I won't keep you if you want to go back. I just thought...” He looks away. “Tomorrow we'll be with everyone else. I kind of wanted to see you with it being, like, just us.”

Harry's breath catches. “Okay,” he whispers. “Cool.”

“Cool.” Louis giggles.

“Are we going somewhere?” Harry asks, punctuating his question with a yawn.

“Hm. That'd be a good idea. I didn't think about that.”

Harry laughs. “You're quite spontaneous.”

“Erm...” Louis frowns as he turns on the car and pulls into the road. “We can't really go to, like, a restaurant or summat. Everything's closed by now anyway, even if we didn't have to worry about being seen. Well... let's see if we can get inspired.”

 

* * *

 

Inspiration gets them tea and snacks from an all-night petrol station. They drift through small lanes and back roads until Harry suddenly says, “Let's stop here.”

“Here?” Louis quirks a sceptical eyebrow. “There's nothing here.”

“Exactly! We can sit on the grass and look at the stars.”

“But it's cold outside. We don't even have blankets to sit on.”

“It'll be fine. We have hot tea! Come on!” Harry leaps enthusiastically from the car the moment it's parked, as if it were three in the afternoon and not three in the morning, as if he weren't sleepily curled up in the passenger seat not twenty minutes ago.

“It won't be hot after we sit outside for two minutes,” Louis mutters darkly, but he follows.

Harry is sprawled on the grass on a little hill, a dozen or so yards from the car. Louis picks his way carefully across the grass and sits down gingerly next to him.

“Do you know constellations?”

Louis shakes his head. “Not really. Not like you see a lot of stars in London, between the clouds and the lights. Plus I've never been the science type, meself.”

“Oh, but constellations aren't scientific. They're all about myth and imagination. See those three stars in a line? That's Orion's belt. That's the first constellation my mum taught me.”

Louis leans over so he can sight along Harry's arm. “I'm not sure... Oh, those ones?”

“Yeah! And there's other stars that make up the rest of Orion. See, there's his feet... Yeah? And his sword hanging down there...”

“Oh, his _sword_.” Louis supposes that Harry can't see him waggle his eyebrows, but his tone of voice probably conveys the same thing.

“Naughty,” Harry murmurs. “Let's see... oh, Cassiopeia! Do you know her story?”

Harry keeps chattering happily about constellations. He knows more of them, but Louis has the more extensive classics education and can tell him some things he doesn't know about the myths behind the constellations. Harry seems so happy, so alive in the starlight. Louis doesn't want to take that away from him, but the dew is soaking through his trousers and he's getting quite cold.

Louis stumbles over his words and he sees Harry's head turn toward him. “Are you shivering?” Harry asks.

“Well, it's bloody cold out here,” Louis says defensively. “I don't know how you're just laying all over the grass like that.”

“Oh, Lou, you should've said something.” Harry sits up, and Louis can see his hands moving in the dark.

“Are you unbuttoning your coat? Don't give me your coat!”

“I'm not giving you my coat,” Harry says, voice bright with suppressed laughter. He starts scooting toward Louis, and behind him. Louis twists, trying to watch him. Harry pushes on his shoulder and says, “Hold still, jeez.”

Harry's legs slide along Louis', and Harry is pressed up against his back, warming Louis through his shirt. Harry tries to wrap his coat around Louis from behind, which isn't terribly effective because it's a fairly fitted coat.

“Oh, you're like a furnace,” Louis sighs happily, leaning back against Harry.

“Are you calling me hot?” Louis can hear the smile in Harry's voice. Harry's breath is warm against his ear, and Louis suddenly realises that this is an incredibly intimate position.

It's so warm, though. And nice. Harry's a fantastic cuddler. His legs and arms have a masculine firmness, but his torso has just enough yield to be cosy. And he's so _warm_. His arms are wrapped around Louis, and the fingers of one hand stroke Louis' arm gently.

Louis' never been touched like this before. It's all very innocent, really, but he feels like he's on fire. He's cataloguing everything: the strength of Harry's hands, the warmth of his body, the tickle of Harry's curls brushing past his forehead as Harry turns his head to look at other stars. He had been so glad that Harry had agreed to sneak out with him, but he hadn't dared to imagine the night would end up like this.

“You didn't answer me,” Harry says quietly.

Louis cautiously brings a hand up to rest on Harry's arms across his chest. Harry doesn't pull away. _Victory for Louis! Touched a cute boy's arm today!_ “What?” he asks distantly.

“About whether you were calling me hot.”

“Awfully forward, aren't you.” Louis slowly skims his hand down Harry's arm, softly at first, then with enough pressure for Harry to feel it through his coat. He feels Harry shiver slightly against his back, and he grins.

“I can be.”

Harry rubs his face along the side of Louis', his nose sliding across Louis' cheek. Louis starts back and turns his head to the side to look at Harry in amazement. “Did you just nuzzle me? Are you an actual cat?”

Harry grins, pulling back a little too so he can look at Louis without his eyes crossing. “I might be.” He squeezes Louis' arm while his eyes roam slowly over Louis' face and he whispers, “You've got stars in your eyes.”

“Oh my god, are you even real?”

Harry smiles. Then he dips his head to press his lips against Louis', and the world stops.

All Louis hears is a rushing in his ears, and all he sees is the darkness of his eyelids, and all he feels are Harry's plush lips against his, Harry's strong arms holding him close. It's a firm press, mouth on mouth, warm and just a little wet. Harry's lips shift against his, a little, but it's not a full-on snog, it's just a little kiss. It's maybe the most perfect moment of Louis' life.

Harry pulls back. Vaguely, Louis perceives Harry's arms loosening – not letting go of him, but telling him that Harry _will_ let go if Louis wants. Louis doesn't want that. His hand clenches down, holding Harry's arm in place.

“All right?” Harry asks softly.

Louis swallows. “All right,” he whispers back.

“All _riiiight_ , _”_ Harry cheers quietly. Louis giggles, and feeling very bold, he leans back in to Harry's mouth and kisses the wild, curly-haired boy he's been watching on telly for three months. He presses a few soft pecks to Harry's lips. Then Harry's left hand comes up to cradle Louis' face – and that's fantastic, Harry's big hand cradling his jaw and making him feel strangely delicate. And then it gets even _better_ , because Harry keeps him in place with a firm touch, doesn't let him pull back from his kiss, and he feels Harry's lips part, Harry's tongue tracing his lower lip and silently asking for entrance, Harry licking into his mouth when it falls open on a surprised gasp.

He doesn't know how much time has passed when he drops his head to Harry's shoulder, breathing unevenly. He's twisted around by now, half in Harry's lap with his arms around Harry's neck. “So that's how you kiss,” he murmurs.

“Yes, that is how I kiss.” He feels Harry's face flex with a grin.

“No, I meant—actually yeah, no, let's go with that.”

Harry's silent for a beat, and then he asks incredulously, “Are you telling me you never made out with anyone before?”

“Shut up,” he mumbles into Harry's shoulder.

“I'm your first kiss,” Harry says wonderingly. “Amazing. Wow.”

“I've lived a sheltered life.”

Harry flops down onto the ground, taking Louis with him so that the smaller boy is laying on his chest. He grins at Louis and drawls, “Well, I'd be _very_ happy to help you practise some more.”


	10. Chapter 10

Normally after getting only three hours of sleep, Harry would feel dazed with exhaustion. This morning, although he is tired, he’s also so excited and weirdly, shakily energetic. He tries to move calmly  through his morning, but his heart is turning cartwheels. He snogged Prince Louis last night. _Not really a prince,_ he reminds himself, but it's still hard not to think about the other boy as Prince Louis. It's a dream come true anyway. He _may_ once have drawn hearts all over a magazine photo of Louis, and surrounded it with scrawled repetitions of “Mr. Harry Styles.” It was totally a joke, though.

“Harry Styles,” he says aloud, just to hear the sound of it. He knows that's not really his name – the royals don't actually have last names, but they use the name of their house for that purpose sometimes. He's read before that Louis is enrolled in school as Louis Styles. How strange that he didn't even have to marry Louis to become Harry Styles.

Last night, when Louis dropped him off, he'd asked Louis if he could get Niall an invitation to breakfast. It seemed unfair to leave Niall out yet again when Louis and Gemma were in town. He wasn't sure whether Louis would follow through, but he wakes Niall and tells him to get ready anyway. He drags his brother along to the car, and the driver and bodyguard don't object.

Harry feels a bit smug as they approach the palace. Niall gawks, head whipping around to take it all in. Harry did the same eight weeks ago, but now he can play it cool. He's seen it before. No big deal.

Anne greets them as they enter the palace, hugging Harry and pressing a cool kiss to his cheek. Turning to Niall, she offers her perfectly-manicured hand to shake. “So lovely to finally meet you, Niall. I'm sorry we haven't had the opportunity before. Consider this a family breakfast, no need to stand on ceremony. You may call me Anne.”

“I-I'm not sure I can do that, ma'am,” Niall stammers, shaking her hand.

Anne smiles gently. “Well, ma'am will do if that's more comfortable for you, or even Mrs. Styles. Come along. Louis' family is here too, so we've got quite the crowd today!”

Anne leads them to a larger, more formal dining room than where they usually eat. There's a long table set for twelve. Luke is already there, attaching booster seats to a couple of the chairs. The generic plastic seats are a strange contrast to the ornate dining chairs.

Gemma soon comes into the room, holding the hand of a tiny blonde girl who's chattering happily at her. They're trailed by three more girls of various ages, along with an older man whom Harry doesn't know. The girls mill around, arguing about who gets to sit next to whom. They have no regard for the presence of the Queen or Harry. Their innocent unconcern makes him smile.

A pretty brown-haired woman rushes in, and it's no mystery who is: she's clearly the grown-up version of the four little girls, which means she can't be anyone other than Louis' mother. “That boy was still in bed! Teenagers, honestly. You girls stay little, okay?” She ruffles the hair of the second-tallest girl, who has light brown hair unlike her blonde sisters.

“Yes, mama,” the girl says happily. “I want to sit by Louis, okay?”

“Well, we'll see, he might not even make it to breakfast. Oh! Harry, hello! My goodness, the resemblance really is uncanny. Come here, love.”

He's swept up in yet another maternal hug. He lets it happen, leaning down a bit to hug around her shoulders. “It's a pleasure to meet you,” he says politely.

“Oh, goodness, where are my manners,” she laughs, pulling back. “I feel like I already know you. I'm Jay – Johannah but everyone calls me Jay. Louis' mum, of course, and mum to all these little ones too.” She starts pointing. “Lottie over there is ten, Fizzy is eight, and Daisy and Phoebe are five. And that's my husband, Mark Tomlinson.”

“How do you tell the twins apart?” he whispers.

She laughs and whispers back, leaning close, “You'll get it in time. By the way, none of the girls know who you really are, they just know you're a friend. Less risk of them spilling the beans, you know.”

“Got it.”

They disperse around the table. Anne sits at one end, and Jay at the other. The twins are seated between Jay and her husband Mark, and Harry and Gemma sit on either side of Anne, with Niall next to Harry.

“So the semi-final next week!” Jay observes brightly. “How exciting for you boys.”

“Oh, well, we won't find out until tonight whether we continue on to the next week,” Harry demurs.

“Of course you will,” Gemma says. “You smashed it, really. The crowd went mad when you went out onto that little stage behind the judges.”

“That was brilliant,” Niall beams. “So much fun!”

“They've got proper fans now, you know,” Gemma says to her mother.

“Is that right?”

“Yeah, girls with signs camped out outside the studio, the whole lot.”

“It's bizarre,” Harry laughs.

“What's bizarre?” Louis calls, straightening his collar as he strides quickly into the room.

“Nice of you to join us,” says Lottie.

“Oi, you're too young to be that sarcastic,” Louis protests. Lottie smirks and sips her tea.

“Sit by meeeee, Lou,” Fizzy calls.

Louis laughs. “It's the only open chair, Fiz, have I got a choice?”

“No!” she yells happily. “Give me a scone, please!”

“Indoor voices,” Jay scolds.

A low level of chaos continues throughout the breakfast. The children are energetic and demanding, and it doesn't take long for Niall to warm up and fall into the easy banter between Gemma, Louis, and Luke.

Harry does nearly have a heart attack when Luke leans back in his chair, reaches a hand behind Niall's back, and plucks something from Harry's hair. “Got some grass in your hair, mate,” he says mildly.

Niall laughs. “How did you get grass in your hair?” 

Harry flushes and shrugs. Gemma raises an eyebrow at him. Her eyes dart toward Louis, but she doesn't say anything, just nibbles at her fruit salad. Daisy knocks her plate onto the floor by accident by waving her hands too energetically while she tells her sister a story, and the ensuing commotion seems to save him from any prying questions.

Aside from that, it's just a nice meal. The atmosphere is easy and convivial despite the formal setting. He loves kids, and Louis' sisters are sweet and happy. Jay is kind and beautiful, and she and Louis clearly adore one another, chatting cheerily in a way that few teenagers do with their parents. Harry knows that Mark isn't Louis' biological father, but they certainly interact with each other like father and son. Of course, Mark and Jay have been together for at least eleven years, Harry reckons, so it makes sense that they've melded into a solid family by now. It seems remarkable, considering the strange circumstances of Louis' life, but of course his public obligations have only taken up a small fraction of those years.

“What lessons do you have today, H?” Louis asks from the other end of the table.

Harry shrugs, which causes Anne to tap him disapprovingly on the shoulder. He sighs, and says, “I'm not sure. No one's told me yet.”

“A bit of family history and a briefing on the duties and privileges of the royal family, with Professor Thompson,” Luke says promptly.

“I don't have to stay for that, do I?” Niall asks with a grimace.

Even Anne titters a bit at that. “No, we'll have a car take you back to the house after breakfast.”

“I can give you a tour of the palace first, though, if you like,” Luke offers.

Niall brightens. “That'd be sick, mate, yeah, for sure!”

“Does Harry have to do lessons, Anne? We came all this way to see him and Niall,” Louis complains.

“We have him for so little time, Louis. These lessons are very important for preparing him for his future.”

“Yeah, but he'll be off the show in two weeks one way or another. Losing an hour or two of lessons today doesn't seem that tragic in the grand scheme of things.”

Anne presses her lips together. “It would be very rude to cancel on Professor Thompson. He's coming all the way from Oxford. No, Louis.”

“You can come with me to my lesson,” Harry says.

Louis actually considers it. A slow grin spreads across his face. “You know, maybe I will. Gems, you in too?”

She looks at him suspiciously. “If you insist...”

“What are you two up to?” Anne asks bluntly.

“Nothing!” Louis raises his hands up defensively. “Just eager to learn. You know me.”

Anne narrows her eyes at him. “Hmm. Quite.”

 _Eager to learn_ turns out to mean _eager to disrupt the official story and bring up the juicy bits._ Professor Thompson doesn't last more than twenty minutes before he absent-mindedly corrects Gemma to tell her that, “No, he didn't have three mistresses, he had five, actually.”

“Wait, who are the other two?” Gemma demands, eyebrows shooting up.

It turns out that Professor Thompson has quite a lot of dirt on the royal family and nobility of the last century, and all it takes to get him to spill it is for someone else to be wrong enough about it that he feels compelled to correct the error.

It's the most entertaining lesson Harry has had yet. He's not sure that what he learns is useful, but it certainly is fun. It's still bizarre to talk about some king's mistresses and remind himself that they're talking about his great-grandfather.

Everyone else has gone off on other business by the time his lesson is over, so he just has Gemma and Louis to say good-bye to once he's politely thanked Professor Thompson for his time. Louis walks him out to the waiting car, but when Harry sits on the nearest seat and turns to say good-bye, Louis frowns and says, “No, budge over.”

“Huh? Why?” Harry asks as he scoots obediently.

“Don't ask stupid questions,” Louis says. He leans forward to speak to the driver. “Hey, Paul? Can you roll up the partition? I want to talk to Harry privately.”

Harry feels dizzy. “Did you seriously just do that? Driver, roll up the partition please?”

“Shut up, it's not like I'm going to suck your dick or something.” Louis twines his fingers through Harry's hair, none too gently, and hauls Harry's face over to his own.

 

* * *

 

They get through to the next week's show. Harry walks through that day (and the live results show, and the next several days) in a fog, with his brain playing a continuous loop of Louis saying _I'm going to suck your dick._ Yes, Louis had said he _wasn't_ going to do that, but Harry likes to think a “yet” was implied. Also, whatever happens in the future, he now knows what it sounds like for Louis to say those words,  and that's pretty difficult to live with.

His focus is shot. Liam's going to murder him and he's not even allowed to tell him why.

As if that's not bad enough, the producers learned about the actual circumstances of Harry's adoption into the Horan family, and they want to film an interview to feature in the next episode.

“Just, uh, let me go to the loo first,” Harry says quickly, and hurries off before they can stop him.

In the bathroom, he pulls out his phone and then stops, suddenly wondering who to call. His first impulse is Anne, but she tends to be very busy and often doesn't even have her mobile with her, relying on assistants to handle her communications. Luke, though – this PR stuff is his job. He quickly pulls up Luke's number and hits call. Luke, thank goodness, answers on the second ring with a cheery, “Hey, Harry, what's happening?”

“Niall told Cher about how I was found as a baby, and she told someone else, and now the producers know and they want me to give an interview about my tragic foundling backstory, what do I do?” Harry says frantically.

“Whoa, don't panic, man. It's fine. I mean it's not even a secret, everyone in Mullingar knows already. Just tell the story the way you would've told it before you found out the truth. You can do that, can't you?”

Harry pulls at lip and ponders. “I... hmm. I think I can. Yeah. I can.”

“We've already thought about what happens if that story goes public,” Luke reassures him. “It'll actually help, probably. When we announce that you're the prince, people will think, oh yeah, he did have that weird thing where his birth family was a mystery. It primes people to already be wondering about your family and where you came from. The shock will still be huge, but every little bit helps.”

“Oh. Huh.”

“Just pretend you're Harry from six months ago and you don't know anything. Give me a call afterwards – if you let anything terrible slip, we'll deal with it. But you'll be fine. Let me know how it goes, okay?”

Harry nods, even though Luke can't see. “Okay. Yeah. Thanks, Luke.”

They interview him in a field, standing in tall grass, hair and scarf blowing in the wind. It's very dramatic.

“Everyone knows by now that you're adopted, of course,” the interviewer says. She's a tall woman, ginger-haired and kind-faced. Harry nods. She continues, “What they don't know yet is that it was no ordinary adoption, was it?”

“No,” Harry replies. “I was actually a foundling.”

“A foundling,” the interviewer states, eyebrows shooting up. “Like, the whole baby-in-a-basket-left-on-the-church-steps thing?”

Harry laughs nervously. “Erm, no. I was just wrapped up in a blanket and left on a pew. So at least I was inside the church. I was born—er, well, I was found on January 13th, and they reckoned I was about a week old, so we've celebrated my birthday on January 6th, but yeah, they didn't know exactly when I was born. Erm, anyway, it was quite cold.”

The interviewer nods. “So no clue about your birth family?”

“No. There was a note with me, saying, like, it's too dangerous for me to keep Harry any longer, please take care of him, so they knew my name, yeah, and that's it. I didn't match any known births anywhere in the area, and there weren't any babies reported missing in Ireland, so it was a big mystery. But, like, sometimes, you know, you've got an unmarried girl who gets pregnant and keeps it secret, and gives birth on her own because she's afraid of, like, what her family would do if she had a baby? You hear stories like that sometimes...” The interviewer nods encouragingly. “So we figured, like, that's probably what happened. Like a girl from a super-strict family, or in an abusive situation, maybe. I think, like, the police did try to find my family, 'cause it was illegal to abandon a baby like that, maybe it still is? Yeah, but it seemed like—er, well, long story short, they didn't find them.”

The interviewer shakes her head. “It amazes me that you just got adopted out from there. It seems so strange, to just give up on finding your family and give you to another one.”

“Well, my parents fostered me for a bit first. I mean, small towns, you know, they were like, these people really want a baby, let them take care of the baby, you know? My mum had just fallen pregnant with Niall at the time actually, but they weren't sure it'd, like, work out, they'd had, er, trouble, so they took me. And then after enough time had passed that I could be declared legally eligible for adoption 'cause I was considered abandoned, I was, erm, over a year old, yeah, and I'd bonded with them, and the court said it was in my best interest to stay with them.” Harry bites his lip, feeling guilty. “I mean, they couldn't stay in limbo forever, you know? As far as anyone knew, my birth family didn't want me, so...”

“Does that bother you?”

Harry's silent for a long moment, not sure what to say. Finally, he answers slowly, “I worried a lot about my birth mum. Whether she was okay.”

“Do you ever wish you would find them?”

Harry laughs. It's such an awkward question because he can't tell this woman that he did already find his birth family. “I wondered about them a lot when I was younger,” he manages to say, mentally patting himself on the back for that evasive answer – _thank you, media training._ He grins. “Who knows, maybe they'll recognise me from the telly!”

The interviewer laughs. “Stranger things have happened, I'm sure.”

“All right, that should cover it,” the producer calls from behind the cameraman, looking at her clipboard. “Thanks, Harry, well done.”

“Cheers,” Harry answers politely, hoping that she actually meant it. “Did I talk too much?”

“Oh, don't worry about that, you know how much we cut down interviews,” the producer says breezily. In other words: _yes, you did talk too much, but we can work with that._

 

* * *

 

Harry feels like a mess all week, but when he pours all his feelings into the music, it's transcendent. When he sings _let's waste time / chasing cars_ in the semi-final, he means it more than he ever thought he could. He wonders if Louis knows. He locks his gaze with the camera and imagines Louis' blue eyes and wonders if he knows that this is for him. Everything that fueled the performance made him feel a bit manic, but nailing the closing notes like that and hearing the thunderous cheers feels so perfect that it hurts.

He scrawls _this is all I want, so much it's hurting_ in his notebook that night, and isn't even sure what he means. He sits outside in the cold December air and texts Louis an incomprehensible string of emoji because everything he wants to say feels too large and chaotic to put into words. Louis texts back emoji of a person running and a car.

They get through to the final, and Harry dares to hope that they could win. Anne says they won't allow him to take the Syco contract, but maybe, maybe they could negotiate something better and she'd give them her blessing.

They practise harder than they ever have, to the point that their vocal coach tells them to stop. “It'll all be for nothing if you have no voice left by Saturday,” he scolds, and he's right, but it's hard to accept that the best thing you can do is nothing at all.

He can't stop working. This is their last chance to prove themselves. It's his last chance to avert fate. Next week he might have to be Prince Harry, but right now he's Harry Horan and he could be a superstar just because he's a good singer, a good performer, all regardless of who his mum is. When they can't sing anymore, he pulls out his notebook and he, Liam, and Niall try to turn mediocre poems into mediocre songs. It doesn't feel like they get very far, but at least it's doing something.

When Louis texts to ask if he can call, Harry tries to beg off for the sake of his voice. Louis rings anyway, and Harry picks up because he's pathetically gone for Louis. Louis' very existence reminds Harry of things he's trying to avoid, and his sweet, raspy voice sends tingles all over Harry that no amount of furtive wanking has yet managed to dispel. In other words, talking to Louis doesn't actually make anything better, so it's a mystery why Harry feels lighter and brighter after they hang up.

He realises later, as he waits to go on stage for the final, that he's gotten his hopes up. He thought he had given up on this dream weeks ago, but now he wants it so, so badly.

It's the very last show, the one that decides everything. Everyone's watching tonight. His parents – that is to say, Bill and Laura – are in the audience, along with Gemma and Louis who are attempting to be incognito. Luke's out there, and Liam's parents are there. Anne's the only one not present, but she's watching at home, and Harry has the impression that they're expected at the palace afterwards.

Everyone's watching as they sing their hearts out, and everyone's watching when it's not good enough.

Third place.

It's gutting. Third place. They seem the most hateful words Harry's ever heard. It's awful walking off stage, and it's awful to break down sobbing, clutching the backs of Niall's and Liam's shirts and clinging to them. It's awful having to get back on stage with wet, red-rimmed eyes, awful that an assistant darted up to wipe crusted snot from his nose just before they stepped back onto the stage, awful congratulating Matt even though he sang brilliantly and he deserves it.

He lets himself cry a bit more afterwards, wallowing in the feeling that the world is ending. But princes aren't allowed to wallow endlessly. Soon enough, Luke comes to find him where he's wrapped up with Niall and Liam. “Ready to go? We've got a van,” he says gently.

Harry sort of hates the confused, guarded look on Liam's face as he surveys another mystery person who wants to whisk Harry away to another mystery place. Harry is pulled away from the other two, but impulsively, he grabs Liam and says, “I think Liam should come too.”

“Come where?” Liam whispers to him.

Luke presses his lips together and considers this.

“To, erm, my birth family's house,” Harry tells Liam quickly. To Luke, he pleads, “I'm sure he can keep a secret. It would've made things weird, Li, if you knew before, but now... What's the point? It'll be out soon anyway, won't it?”

Luke frowns. “Soon isn't the same as now. But... well, if Liam wants to come, he can get his things. I'll call your mother to check while we wait.”

Liam's parents seem knackered and, surprisingly enough, they quickly agree to let him go off with Harry and Niall as long as he promises not to stay out too late. Niall bounces excitedly all the way out, crowing about how he can't wait to see the look on Liam's face.

A tall black van awaits them outside. Harry goes inside first to find Louis, Gemma, Jay, Lottie, Bill, and Laura inside, as he expected. What he doesn't expect is Anne herself, waving him over to the seat next to him and drawing him into a tight hug. “You were wonderful, dear. I'm sorry you didn't win, but you did very well indeed.”

He looks up from behind Anne's shoulder and he can't help a grin when he sees Liam frozen and staring on the seat closest to the door. “So, this is my birth family,” he says, and laughs out loud at the sheer absurdity of it.

Anne follows Harry's gaze. “Oh, Liam, how lovely that you could come,” she says graciously, leaning forward and extending a delicate hand to shake. “You did very well tonight, and you too of course, Niall. Congratulations on making it so far in your competition.”

“Bet you get it now, why we didn't tell you,” Niall smirks, elbowing Liam in the side.

“Is this for real?” Liam whispers.

Gemma laughs and offers her hand to him. “Nice to see you again, Liam. We're quite real, yes.”

“I'm sure Harry will explain it all later,” Louis says breezily, “but for now, we celebrate our talented friends!” With a loud pop, he sends the cork of a champagne bottle flying across the interior of the van to a round of laughs and cheers.


	11. Chapter 11

The next day, Luke and their parents escort them back to the X Factor house one last time to retrieve their things. Simon corners them in their room and offers them a contract after all, a one-record deal. Luke's shaking his head before Simon even finishes speaking. “Even if your mother would agree to you recording and touring, remember, we talked about how predatory the Syco contracts are. It's out of the question.”

“Excuse me, who are you?” Simon scoffs. “It's a good deal, boys, the best one you're going to get. Unless other companies are beating down your doors with offers? Yes, I thought not. You'll be old news in weeks, you know. This is your opportunity. This it it.”

The boys exchange glances, but don't speak. Irritably, Simon adds to Luke, “And he _is_ touring. The finalists' tour starts in two months.”

“Yeah, no, he's definitely not. His lawyers will be in touch about that.” To Niall and Liam, he adds, “Sorry, lads.”

Liam seems more sadly resigned and less angry, at least. They'd been able to talk alone for a bit last night so he knows now how much it hurts Harry too to say no to this contract. It doesn't help anything, really, but Harry's glad that Liam knows that Harry's not letting him down out of laziness or malice.

It still really sucks to walk away from the offer. Harry doesn't care right now how bad of an offer it was; it could have been the start of something for him, but instead it's a dead end.

If that weren't enough, he has to say good-bye to his parents. They have a car full of Niall's things and a long drive and ferry trip to get home, and they have to get back to work. They hug him tightly and tell him they'll be back to support him for the big announcement. He clings to that, knowing they're doing what they can as they all muddle through this. He reminds himself that they're still his parents as he stands in the cold and watches them drive away with only Niall's things in the boot – only Niall's, because Harry's things are in Luke's car, going to the palace, because apparently he lives in a palace now.

Niall stays, at least. He doesn't have any responsibilities for the moment, and he's so thrilled to get to stay at Kensington Palace and explore London for a week or two that it even makes Harry feel a little better.

“I'm really glad you're staying,” Harry says slowly, fidgeting with a bracelet as the car pulls away from the X Factor house for the last time. “It's like... I have to move, and start this new life, and you're, like... a bridge. Connecting the old and the new parts. It's not like I'm just becoming a totally different person and losing my whole life, 'cause I have my brother with me.”

“Aw, blimey, don't get all emotional on me.” Niall gently punches him in the arm, but then he belies his words by throwing his arm around Harry and leaning against him. “But I'm glad you appreciate how lucky you are to have me. As you should.”

Harry laughs and presses back against Niall's shoulder. “I'm glad this all hasn't damaged your self esteem,” he says with mock-seriousness.

“Nah, I'm like Teflon, you know, not letting any of the crap stick to me.”

Harry chuckles, shaking his head. He lets Niall pull his arm back, and they mostly busy themselves with their phones for the rest of the drive. He's gotten so many sad tweets since they were eliminated from the show, and he figures he'll reply to a few while he still can. (Neither Louis nor Gemma have any public social media, unless one counts the official Royal Family and Kensington Palace twitter accounts. Louis and Gemma don't even have the passwords to them.)

 **_Harry Horan twitter @harry_horan_ **  
_@makemeahoransandwich haha thx for your support! We were sad to go too :(_

_Many congratulations to @mattcardle – brilliant singer – looking forward to your album x_

_@mmmoooo I won't be continuing with the band... :( I hope Niall and Liam will carry on though. Wait and see....!_

_@sparklekween can't really say just yet but I expect you'll hear soon. Thanks for your support xx_

_@hmhooper kids in america was probably the most fun performance!_

He's glad he took a few minutes to tweet, because those minutes in the car are the last that feel like they truly belong to him for a long time.

 

* * *

 

Walking into the palace is like walking off a pier into stormy waters. Keeping his head above water is about all he can manage.

There are endless lessons – coaches for how he should walk, how he should sit, what he should say, how he should say it, how to greet all the officials and significant people he's soon to meet. There are plans and timelines, bizarre and meticulous arrangements. There are people to manage just about everything.

The social media manager wants his Twitter deleted. Everyone is surprised by how hard Harry pushes back, Harry included.

“The fans have already documented literally everything I've tweeted.”

Althea is a fairly young woman – early thirties, Harry reckons – but her severely pulled-back hair and conservative dress make her seem older. “What do you mean?” 

“They take screenshots of everything,” Harry explains. “I've seen it on Tumblr. What I'm saying is, we can't make anything I've tweeted really go away, can we? So, why act like there's something to hide?”

“Well, a member of the Royal Family having personal social media is just not done.”

“It's done if I do it.”

“It's inappropriate. You need to keep some distance from the public.”

“I'm willing to scale back on it and have guidelines about what's appropriate to post,” Harry says slowly. “I think that's fair. But I've already been this normal-lad, semi-public guy on there. You can't... that's already done. I'm not like Gemma who's been royal her whole life. That distance from the public isn't the same for me. I've already gotten close. I can't become this distant, mysterious prince overnight.” He snickers a little during that last part, though he honestly tries not to.

Luke sighs. “He's not wrong, Althea.”

Althea scowls. She taps her pen against the table, frowning at Harry. “I want to go through your timeline and delete some tweets. And I want the right to review everything you tweet. Everything.”

Harry wrinkles his nose. “We go through the timeline together and I have final say of what gets deleted. But I'll agree to you reviewing posts.”

“Fine.” Althea takes in a deep, slow breath and glares at Luke. “If this blows up, I'm telling everyone that you encouraged him.”

“It won't. I think we'll see that Harry's got a knack for this stuff.”

Harry thinks it's an absurd thing to say – how can Luke know that? Still, he smiles gratefully at the older man. He'll just have to try to prove Luke right.

 

* * *

 

The timeline for the announcement is alarmingly short. One week. Not even a week, actually.

“Saturday, December 19th, in the afternoon,” Anne informs him that evening, the two of them and all the PR minions in her beautifully-decorated office. It's not warm at all, but Harry immediately breaks into a sweat.  

“It's far enough from Christmas that this'll dominate the news cycle for a few days, but close enough that people will be looking away for a few days once Christmas hits,” Jon notes. “Saturday will be something of a mixed bag as far as the media go. We reckon a large number of people will watch the broadcast, but articles will trickle out, with the big think pieces not hitting until Monday or Tuesday.”

“We'll leave for Sandringham right after the broadcast, so we won't have to deal with paparazzi at all. We can let the news sink in for a week or two, maybe even longer, before we put you in public again,” Anne says. Her tone indicates that this is supposed to be reassuring. Sandringham is just another unfamiliar palace for Harry, but of course she wouldn't see it that way.

“Am I going to have to speak?” Harry asks her nervously.

“Perhaps. A line or two at most. We wouldn't ask you to give a speech at this point. It may be best to have you say a little something, though. We're going to have a very tight control over the environment, you know, we're not going to let reporters interrogate you. Or me, for that matter.” She smiles tightly.

Harry sees, in that moment, how much she is dreading this broadcast. The press could very well rip them all to shreds, he realises. They might not be happy about him, but they're going to blame her. All she wanted was to get her son back – to get him back.

He's terribly afraid he's crossing some sort of line to do this in front of her employees, but he reaches out and gently places his hand on hers where it rests on her desk. Almost immediately, she flips her hand underneath his to grasp his hand hard. Her face is still stiff with tension, but her smile warms a little bit.

“It'll be bad for a while, but it will get better. It will,” she insists. “We'll look back and say that it was all worth it someday soon.”

Harry smiles and squeezes her hand and lies. “I know.”

She smiles back, then looks around at the staffers surrounding them. “You can all go. Thank you for your efforts,” she says. As they file out, she gives Harry's hand another squeeze before releasing it. “Now, as tempting as it is to focus on the immediate future, we must also look a bit further out.”

“Oh, yeah.” His life post-X-Factor is something that they've touched upon, but he's mostly avoided the subject. Everything had seemed so uncertain, and irrationally he'd hoped that somehow he'd get out of all of this.

“Well, I've lined up a number of excellent tutors for you. We'll come back to London in the new year, and we can start catching you up on your education.” She smiles. “You'll have a lot of work to do, I know, but it'll be wonderful. You'll get to learn so much, and we'll spend time together, and you can enjoy London. In the spring, you can take exams and interview for schools, and we'll have you all ready to go into upper sixth next school year. I do hope you'll consider Eton but there's a number of wonderful schools that will do.”

“Wait, schools?” Harry sits back and takes a deep breath. “I thought I'd take my exams back home at the end of this year and go to uni next year.”

“Oh. Well, we could work toward that, I suppose. But, Harry, you've fallen quite behind this year. And with the way you've jumped between our school system and Ireland's, I'm just not sure...” She presses her lips together and speaks slowly. “You're a bright young man, and I'm sure you could pass your A-levels, but you might not get the marks you would want, and without that, you might not have access to the calibre of university where you belong. And for the country to see you as ours, you really must do A-levels and finish out in the English education system.”

She pauses, but Harry doesn't say anything. He's speechless.

“I suppose you must see this as a setback, but Harry, it's not,” she says earnestly. “You're going to learn so much in the next year and a half. You'll see, when you get to university, how much better-prepared you will be than if you rushed off to uni.”

“Right. I see,” he croaks out.

He leaves her office in a daze, looking not at his surroundings but at the metaphorical path laid out for him. He didn't agree to it, but somehow he's walking down it already.

When he tells Niall about it, his brother's response is, “It's really weird that Louis is a year ahead and already at uni because of his home schooling and you're going to end up a year behind.”

Harry kicks him where he's sprawled on the plush rug in Harry's sitting room.

“Ow. Why didn't you just tell her you want to go straight to uni?” Niall continues.

“Do I, though?” Harry sighs. “I don't even know what I'm going to study now. I haven't really thought about how this whole situation affects what I want to do. Or can do. I've got no idea what I'm doing with my future. And maybe she's right. Maybe I'd just fail my A-levels and make a fool of myself if I took them this school year. Do you think I need to experience more of the English educational system?”

“No,” Niall says immediately. “What's so special about it anyway. It's just school. Same as anywhere. Hell, come home and finish your leaving certificate with me!”

“You know I can't do that.”

“Well, what do you wanna do?”

“I don't know,” Harry groans. “I just know what everyone else wants me to do.”

“Well, mate, you're gonna have to sort that out. Or not, I guess,” Niall says philosophically.

 

* * *

 

He realises on Tuesday that the palace is nearly in a state of lockdown. More people come in to the palace but they don't seem to leave. Guest rooms fill. He overhears hushed conversations in the halls, frustrated voices whispering into mobile phones that they're not sure when they'll be home, not to worry, but they have so much to do, so sorry.

Niall is one of the few who comes and goes, chauffeured around London by one of the staff drivers. At least they have time together in the evenings, when Niall chatters excitedly about all the things he saw that day while Harry listens enviously. Harry wants to whine and cry about how hard it all is, how terrified he is, how much he hates that he's turning his life and others upside down and threatening centuries-old institutions just by existing. How much he just wants to go home.

But what's the use in doing that night after night?

Instead, they play video games. That's thanks to Louis: he had insisted that Harry's rooms absolutely needed the latest consoles and titles. It does feel good to forget about his crazy life for an hour while driving an imaginary car through a Las Vegas made of pixels.

On Thursday evening, though, there's a knock at the door while he's dressing for dinner. When he opens the door it's Gemma, finally done with the term and back from St. Andrews, with new light streaks in her dark hair and a kind smile on her face. She spreads her arms and asks, “How's my favourite brother doing?”, and she holds him patiently while he clings to her for long, long minutes, his body curling so he can bury his face in her neck.

He doesn't cry, but he does dare to mumble, “I hate this.”

She rubs his back and sighs, “I don't blame you.” The wonderful thing about it is that Harry believes her. “Have they even given you a second to really deal with anything?”

“What's dealing?” he huffs. “Loads of lessons and plans and discussions about how everything will be handled. As if I'm even doing anything besides, like, standing there on Saturday.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right.” She shakes her head as he pulls back from her. “At least you're in the loop, though, you know?”

Harry sticks out his tongue in disgust. “So the alternative is worse, yeah, I guess.”

“Want me to leave you alone now so you can finish getting ready?”

He shrugs. “If you're ready, you can just hang out. I can change in the closet and we can talk.”

“Sure, that works.” She sits on the edge of the neatly-made bed and tells him about her exams while Harry changes out of his casual daytime clothes. He emerges, frowning down at his grey button-down and complaining, “I can't believe I have to wear all these new posh clothes and I didn't even get to go shopping.”

Gemma looks up from her phone, eyebrows raised. “What do you mean?”

He shrugs. “They said there wasn't time, so someone took my measurements and a few days ago some people showed up and put all this stuff in my wardrobe. Here, come see.”

She walks in curiously, and almost immediately squawks in dismay. “Oh my God, it's all so boring!”

“I know,” Harry moans. “It's all very nice stuff, but...”

“They've dressed you like you're 70 and not 17.” She sighs. “I can't imagine when things will settle down enough that you and I can go out shopping together, but it will happen, mark my words.”

Harry smiles gratefully at her. “I think I like having a sister.”

“I suppose you should really get Louis to go with you,” she muses. “I'd say that we both care about fashion but he's the menswear expert, obviously.”

“Oh, well.” Harry fidgets with his cuffs, looking down.

“But how silly would it be of me to turn down a chance to spend time with you!” Gemma adds quickly. “We've got loads of sibling bonding to make up for.”

Having Gemma around changes things more than he expected. She drops in to check on him throughout the next day, even sticks around for some of the meetings and backs him up when he needs it.

“Don't you have, like, friends to visit and stuff?” he asks during an afternoon respite, sipping tea on an icy-cold balcony.

“Nah,” she answers breezily. “They'll understand.”

He hopes so, for her sake, because he's really not about to insist that she leave him.

Louis arrives Friday evening, and that makes things even better. He bounces around at dinner, laughing, joking and being cheeky to everyone in sight. Harry's not sure how Louis can be in such good spirits when everyone else is full of dread, but it's infectious, and it's nothing short of a miracle that they're having their most cheerful dinner of the week on the eve of the big announcement.

Harry thinks he'll get get some time alone with Louis, but after dinner the entire family retires to a sitting room to talk. It's astonishing to see how relaxed Louis, Gemma, and Anne can be together. They leave space for him and gracefully pull him carefully into the conversation when he's been silent for too long. When it gets too late, though, Anne orders them to bed with the undeniable authority of a mother and a queen.

So. He'd be wise to obey her, obviously. Wise to be well-rested tomorrow. He goes through the motions of brushing his teeth and putting on his pyjamas, even, before he texts Louis. _Hi._

Louis writes back immediately. _Hi yourself. Shouldn't u be asleep?_

Harry grins triumphantly. _Want to come over?_

 _risky, h, very risky_.

Harry snorts to himself. _Seriously? More risky than me sneaking out of the x factor house?_

Louis responds, _Uh YEAH. Do I seriously need to explain to you whos here._

 _I can't even believe you right now_ , Harry writes back. He bites his lip and types, hoping he doesn't sound pathetic: _do you really not want to come over??_

Louis doesn't respond for several minutes. Harry is groaning into a pillow and wondering how much he's just humiliated himself when his phone finally lights up with a new notification: _I'll come over in 15. More of a chance for everyone to be asleep by then._

Harry scrolls through his apps until he finds a mindless game to distract himself. Maybe Louis will just want to talk; he doesn't want to be over-eager. After ten minutes, he does go to his door and unlock it, opening it just a hair.

A few minutes later, the door eases open and Louis slips silently into the room, closing the door with the utmost delicacy before he turns to grin at Harry, who's lounging on the sofa and still holding his mobile. Harry sits up quickly, scooting to leave what he hopes is an inviting space next to him. “Hey,” he says warmly.

Louis is wearing black track pants, a grey jumper, and a grey beanie pulled low on his head. “Hey you,”  he returns, throwing himself onto the sofa with enough force that he bounces a bit. “Oh, this is nice. Good choice.”

“The designer picked it out, but yeah, good, isn't it?” Harry swallows thickly. “So did you come over to talk about my furnishings?”

“Oh, yeah, obviously.” Louis twists around to survey the whole room. “Nice wallpaper, too.”

“Oh, shut up. They insisted. At least I got something kind of geometric. Most of the options were so, like, grandmotherly.”

Louis laughs. “They insisted, really?”

“Yeah, they let me have no wallpaper in the bedroom, but they said the sitting room needed to be more impressive in case I ever received guests in here.” Harry rolls his eyes.

“Oh, good thing too, because yeah, I'd be out of here in a flash if the wallpaper weren't nice enough.” Louis grins at him, bouncing a little in place. “Seriously though, you know you can stand your ground and say no to wallpaper, right? I mean, this is your private apartment.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Harry pulls his knees up to his chest, tucking his feet under a pillow. “I mean, we're... it doesn't feel mine.”

Louis scoots closer on the couch until his hip is next to Harry's feet, pressed against Harry's ankle. “It will. Give it time.”

Harry looks around the room, frowning. “I've only been here a week and we're already about to go off to some other palace. I don't know how you ever feel at home when 'my room' could mean, like, five different places.”

“Well, give it a minute.” Louis leans an elbow on Harry's knees, a move that pulls him even closer. Harry can feel Louis' body pressed against his legs, and it's suddenly taking a great deal more effort to focus on his words. “It settles down after a bit. You'll find the places you like best, and spend more time there, and it'll feel like home someday.”

Harry wraps a hands around Louis' upper arm and uses his grip to pull himself forward. It's not hard at all to close the gap between them and kiss Louis. Beautiful Louis, he immediately goes pliant, leaning into Harry's touch, parting his lips with a soft sigh. Harry lets his knees fall open and tugs Louis forward with gentle pressure on his arm until Harry is lying back against the arm of the couch with Louis sprawled on top of him, kissing with luxurious languor.

Louis pulls back suddenly, blinking hard and staring through glassy eyes. “Crap – I meant to, like, ask you how you're doing and stuff, seriously.”

“Everyone asks that but they just want me to say it's all okay because they can't fix it. Just... don't. Come back. This is better.” With the arms that he's wrapped around Louis, he presses the other man back to him, and Louis drops his mouth back to Harry's without another protest.

They kiss for several more minutes before it dawns on Harry that Louis is hard, pressed against his hip. It's not a surprise, but feeling him, realising that he's not trying to shift away and hide it, makes Harry hopeful.

He rolls them so that they're side by side on the sofa, his own back pressed to the back cushions. Once they're situated there and have figured out just where to put their heads and arms, he rubs at Louis' back with one hand, sliding it up to Louis' side and then down his body to his hip. Then he gathers his courage and slips the hand between their bodies to cup Louis' erection through his pyjamas.

Louis immediately jerks his head back with a gasp, looking at Harry with wide eyes. He doesn't pull his hands from Harry's body or say anything, but the way he stares makes Harry worry. Harry gives him a squeeze that makes Louis draw in another sharp breath, and quietly asks, “Okay? Not okay?”

“Umm.” Louis' fingers clench on Harry's back. His face is flushed and his voice comes out high and thin. “Maybe?”

Harry pulls his hand away and rests it back on Louis' hip. “We don't have to.” He leans in and carefully kisses Louis' overheated cheek, his ear, his neck, while Louis giggles nervously underneath him.

“Yeah, erm. Not, not just yet, maybe?” Louis says quietly, clutching Harry tightly.

“Of course, yeah. Whatever you want,” Harry murmurs, dusting kisses along Louis' jaw.

Louis pulls back a little to capture Harry's mouth for more kissing, but Harry can tell that something has changed. The other boy is more hesitant now, less sure, less eager. Soon enough, Louis turns his head away with a small sigh. “I think I should go.”

“I'm sorry.” Harry sits up a little and bites his lip. “I didn't mean to mess things up.”

“No, yeah, don't, don't worry,” Louis says, not meeting Harry's eyes. “It's okay, I just – it's... We should get to sleep anyway. Tomorrow will be a long day.” He sits up slowly, swinging his legs down to the floor.

Harry sits too. “Yeah, you're right.”

Louis attempts a smirk. “Of course I'm right. Yeah. So I'll, I'll see you at breakfast.” He looks at Harry's face for a long moment, then leans in and presses a last lingering kiss to his lips that leaves Harry's heart fluttering.

“Okay. Good night, Lou.” Harry gives Louis' hand a squeeze as the other boy stands, then quickly drops his hand so Louis can walk away and not feel trapped.

He slumps down into the cushions with a groan as soon as the door clicks shut behind Louis. Was he too pushy? Too desperate? How uncomfortable did he just make Louis feel? Is Louis ever going to kiss him again? Was Louis just not ready, or did he just not want Harry like that? His skin feels tight with embarrassment and guilt, and he wishes, futilely, that he'd just been a little more patient and kept his hands to himself.


	12. Chapter 12

Louis goes to breakfast on Saturday morning with extreme reluctance. If it were any other day, he'd come up with some stupid excuse and skip it, but he knows he won't get away with that today.

He wants to be there with his family, too. He wants to support everyone and know what's happening and greet everyone as they arrive.

On the other hand, he doesn't want to see, well, _whatever it is_ that he's going to see in Harry's eyes this morning. Mockery? Contempt? Boredom? Louis can't believe what an embarrassing, blushing virgin he'd acted like, absolutely petrified because of a hand on his dick. He wasn't sure where things were going last night, but they were surely going some place that he was definitely supposed to want to go to.

It's not that he's entirely against going there – wherever that is. He just wasn't _ready_ and he didn't know what to do. That was all too surprising, and he panicked, and now he's probably ruined that whole thing with Harry.

Whatever. _Whatever._ They have bigger things to deal with today. He can get through this. Breakfast with a man that he maybe kind of rejected for sex last night is small potatoes compared to what the country and the world is about to throw at them.

In the end, with all that everyone has to deal with today, there's just not much reason for him to interact with Harry, and there's always a huge buffer of other people around. His mother is there, and Harry's parents have arrived, too. At the last minute, the plan for the broadcast has changed from just having the children there to also having their parents on camera. They're all been briefed together after breakfast, but there are enough of them that they're driven over to Buckingham Palace in several cars. Then everyone has their own hair, make-up, and wardrobe appointments, along with individual briefings and coaching on their role for the broadcast.

Because of the hectic schedule, they don't all have lunch together; there's just a cold buffet set up where they grab a meal as time allows. Louis eats with his mother, quietly chatting about just how much Fizzy and Lottie will want to kill them when they find out the information that Louis and Jay have been keeping from them. (Verdict: a lot.)

In the early afternoon, Luke starts to round them up, ushering them to the room where they'll do the broadcast. It's a formal sitting room with a long sofa pulled up in front of one of the walls. The other furniture has been shoved to the side, out of sight of the cameras.

He loves the contrasts in these behind-the-scenes moments of the broadcasts. One half of the room looks perfect: an elegant sofa in front of a dark-panelled wall and a carved marble fireplace, side tables adorned with beautiful flowers, plenty of space. The other half of the room is a cramped mess of cameras, lights, fuzzy boom mics, and wires, with a dozen crew and staff members buzzing around.

Luke waves them over and starts gesturing at the sofa. “Okay, so Her Majesty will be in the middle on the sofa, of course. Harry's going to sit here, on her left, and Bill and Laura, you'll stand behind him. So, Harry, sit down... yeah, a little to the left, Bill. That's good there. Okay, so she'll be sitting there, and Gemma, you're on her right, and Louis is next to you on the outside. We'll have Jay right behind Louis. Yeah, if you would stand there for me, please...”

Jon cuts in as Luke arranges them. “Okay, guys, so mostly Her Majesty will be speaking. Now, remember that you don't want to be looking right at her. You're going to be angled toward her a little, but looking at the camera. Remember those example videos we showed you. You want to keep your expression pretty neutral and your arms and legs still. Don't fidget. You might nod a little or a smile here and there, that's okay, but keep any movements or expressions small. Don't look at the crew or look around. Just right at the camera. Okay, when Her Majesty gets here, we'll practice for a few minutes; we've got a half-hour until showtime, so if you need a wee, do it now or you're holding it.”

 

* * *

 

Sitting on a couch next to the Queen in front of a wall of cameras and microphones, Harry is so grateful for his X Factor experience. “I'm just thinking about how overwhelming and awful this would be if I'd never been in front of a camera before like this,” he murmurs.

Anne pats his knee. “I suppose I should send the production a gift basket or something. That show really made all of this possible, didn't it?”

“All right, Harry, remember to watch for my cue,” Jon says from behind the teleprompter. “Two minutes, everyone. You look great.”

Harry hears Louis whisper, “Jesus, I'm so sweaty,” and then Gemma's tinkling laugh.

“Five... four... three... two... one...”

The cue goes up, signalling that they're live, and Anne nods. “Thank you, everyone, for tuning in to this special broadcast. We are here to inform you about some significant news related to our family. It is highly unusual for me to give a televised speech such as this, but these circumstances are most unusual. Because I must take some responsibility for what I am about to tell you, I felt it was my duty to inform you all personally.

“Eighteen years ago, I was expecting my second child. The birth of the prince was a joyous occasion. However, when he was less than a day old, he was kidnapped. It is difficult to convey to you my deep shock and horror. We now know that one of the nurses was a member of a small group of radical, fundamentalist Christians, an offshoot of an American cult. This group was very small and secretive, and the nurse in question was a relatively new member, so this was not discovered in the investigations of the medical personnel who would be attending me.

“We believe that they were unhappy with recent progressive policy changes, and that they hoped to groom the child in an extremist environment, then return him to us to represent that viewpoint in the royal family.” She shakes her head slightly. “I cannot imagine them ever having success with their plan. It is outrageous that they should ever have been able to kidnap a child of my family. Their size and secrecy, though ultimately their downfall, enabled them to slip past us. We were also, perhaps, simply too trusting.

“You may wonder why this is the first you are hearing of this. At the time, we were very worried about causing mass panic and upheaval. Likely, we would have had witch-hunts, with any woman even vaguely resembling the kidnapper being reported to the authorities. Numerous false positives would have stretched our resources. Also, if the kidnappers demanded a ransom, as we thought likely, then it would best be handled quietly. We judged, in the end, that it was best to rely on quiet mobilisation of the police and secret services. We were confident that the prince would be back in my arms within days.”

She pauses and takes a deep breath. “In the meantime, I had to leave hospital. In order to assure the nation that all was well, I left with another woman's child in my arms. I now deeply regret the deception, but at the time, all of us involved in the decision truly felt that this was the best course of action. We thought that the situation would be resolved very quickly.

“Here is what we now know. The kidnapper, along with several accomplices, spent several days in England. Near the Welsh border, they were involved in a car accident. The two male accomplices in the front seat were killed. The prince and the woman were either not harmed, or sustained only minor injuries. The woman fled to the Republic of Ireland and was allowed to enter with forged documents showing that the child was her son.” Anne sighs. “Several days later, she abandoned the child. Perhaps she was too frightened, or lost heart, with her accomplices dead. Perhaps they had coerced her. We don't know, and we don't know why she let the prince be treated as an abandoned, anonymous child, instead of leaving some information about his identity. Perhaps she feared to raise an outcry that would have prevented her from leaving the country. We have never located her. We suspect that she fled to the United States and was given shelter by her religious group there.

“As you may have guessed by now, the young man who has been presented to you as the prince for all of these years has been a decoy. Our Louis and his family have sacrificed a great deal for the sake of stability in our nation. His mother, Johannah, is a close personal friend of mine, and has publicly served our family as an au pair for these long years.” Louis and Jay smile politely.

“My son, Prince Henry, finally returned to me after nearly eighteen years, is known to many of you as Harry Horan, a contestant from this year's X Factor show.” She turns to him with a broad smile, patting his knee. This wasn't part of the plan, but Harry smiles shyly back at her. She huffs out a small laugh and turns back to the camera. Harry follows suit a moment later.

“I can't tell you all how happy I am,” she says, voice briefly quavering with emotion. Pressing a hand to her chest, she continues, “To lose a child like that, not to know where they are, if they are safe, whether they are alive at all, was like carrying an open wound with me every day. The secrecy was deeply painful, and if I had known how long this would go on for, I would not have chosen to hide this. But I carried on in the hope that he would be returned to me any moment, until it had gone on for far too long. I am sorry. I hope that all of you watching can try to understand the difficulty that this family experienced. And if you can understand that, then you can also understand the great joy that we all feel today as I, at long last, present my beloved Prince Harry to you.”

Jon is holding up Harry's cue card. _Oh, God._ “I can only imagine how shocking this is to all of you watching, but believe me when I say that I'm probably the most shocked of all,” he says with a nervous laugh. “I think that every adopted child dreams that they'll someday be reunited with their birth family. These reunions can be very wonderful, but also very difficult. I'm very pleased to be addressing you all today, and I ask that you all be patient with us as we adjust to these changes.”

Anne nods, smiling at him again. “Yes, these are very joyful times for our family, but also very challenging ones. I'm delighted to have the parents who raised Prince Harry with us here this week, as we all get to know one another. Thank you very much, and happy Christmas.”

Various switches are flipped, buttons are pressed, and cameras are set down. They all sag back against the sofa with heavy sighs. “Oh, thank God that's over,” Anne groans. “Well done, Harry, and the rest of you as well. All right, the rest of you can head to the cars. Harry, Gemma, and I have to meet with the press briefly, and then we shall follow.”

The live broadcast has switched over to another room where Myrna is telling the nation that reporters from several esteemed newspapers have been invited to come to the palace with DNA testing kits in order to provide independent confirmation of the relation to the public. It seems extreme, but Anne had said that she wanted to leave as little room for doubt as possible. When signalled, Anne and Harry step into the room. “Remember, dignity,” Anne whispers to him just before they step through the door.

There are a dozen or so reporters there, faces bearing expressions with various degrees of shock. “We will _not_ be taking any questions at this time,” Myrna says sternly from her podium. “When our staff member escorts you, you may collect your samples and go.”

It's somewhat embarrassing to do on live camera, but the process is quick. A reporter hands them each a small swab, they rub it on the inside of their cheeks, and the swabs are dropped into small vials. It's easy. One journalist does try to pepper with questions once he's in range. He's very quickly and firmly escorted out by security without his samples. After that, the rest are very quiet and respectful. Harry hates the way they stare at him but it only takes a few minutes. They're then rushed to a waiting town car and escorted out of London by a swarm of police vehicles, finally done with the announcement and on the road to Sandringham.

 

* * *

 

The gates of Sandringham are buzzing with reporters and surrounded by a crowd of onlookers hoping to catch a glimpse of them. Within the gates, though, it's still and quiet.

The grounds of Sandringham are huge – thousands of acres of meadow and woodlands. The estate is so huge they can hunt on it, Anne tells him as the car rolls slowly through the quiet winter landscape. A breeze stirs the branches of the leafless trees.

The so-called house looks palatial to Harry's eyes: three storeys, a complicated facade of smooth and curved walls. It looks almost like a series of townhomes, except that each narrow portion of the exterior doesn't have its own door. It's beautiful inside – grand and luxurious, in the slightly dated way that seems to be the hallmark of old money. Still, he's spent enough time now in Kensington and Buckingham Palaces to see that all the décor is a bit simpler, all the rooms a bit smaller, the ceilings lower.

“Good old Sandringham,” Anne says warmly, patting a doorway as they walk through it. “Isn't it lovely? Just so welcoming? It's our little country getaway.”

Harry shares a laughing look with Gemma. He loves that she can see the absurdity, too.  

The families are staying for the week until Christmas: Niall, his and Harry's parents, and Louis' whole family. “Now there's time for us all to relax and get to know one another better,” Anne declares proudly. “It's going to be our biggest Christmas here, ever. And, oh, the happiest one in so many years!”

 

* * *

 

On the second afternoon at Sandringham, Gemma's boredom leads them to a happy discovery.

Harry is sprawled on a sofa in the library, reading some book he'd found there, when she pokes her head in and exclaims, “There you are! Hey, Mum and I were thinking of playing some Scrabble. Want to join?”

He sits up, setting the book to the side. “Really? I love Scrabble. Niall never plays with me, though.”

Gemma beams. “Oh, brilliant. Come on, we're setting up in the drawing room.”

When she sees Harry walk in, Anne absolutely lights up. Even if he hated Scrabble, Harry thinks it would be worth it to play just for that look. Fortunately, he genuinely likes the game.

The drawing room is one of the smaller rooms in the house. It's still quite spacious, with tall ceilings, luxurious carpets, and intricate molding on the walls, but it's comparatively cosy. Comfortable armchairs are drawn up around a small table that's decorated only with a Scrabble board and a small bouquet of pink rosebuds. Anne's long dark hair is clipped back loosely; she wears a soft-looking, oversized sweater, and one hand is curled around a steaming cup of tea.

Harry pulls up a chair, and she pours him a cup of tea and smiles at him, and in that moment, he can see her not as a queen, but just a woman, a mother. Maybe it's the softness or the casual setting. Well, they're in a beautiful room in a building that's a palace in all but name, but it's the most casual environment that he's seen her in yet. There's no business to take care of, no plans to make. There's no careful, deliberate exchange of words and information required. They're just going to play a game on a lazy afternoon on holiday, like he's done with his family so many times before.

There is a maid who brings them cake partway through and refreshes the tea. That's different. Bickering over whether something is really a word, though, and debating whether it's worth the risk of challenging, that's familiar. He and Anne groan together when Gemma snags a triple word score, and share a look and an eye-roll when she gets an inordinate amount of points on a two-letter play. Once, when Anne looks away, Gemma sneakily taps an opportune place on the board and gives Harry a significant look. It is a good spot, and her tip nets him a cool 22 points. He still comes in last, but he's not humiliatingly far behind.

“Not bad, H,” Gemma says, scooping tiles back into their small velvet bag.

“What you really have to do if you want to beat her is study the Scrabble dictionary,” Anne advises sagely. “Those silly two-letter words, that's her secret.”

“It's true. You memorise those, and then you need a good arsenal of words for the difficult letters. That's crucial, definitely. I'm sure there's a copy in the library.”

Harry laughs incredulously. Anne, eyes twinkling, quickly says, “She's not kidding! I think there are even several editions.”

“See, when I was little, she'd always beat me because she just knew more words, so I got strategic,” Gemma explains.

Harry smiles, resting his chin on his hand. “So you two have been playing this together for a long time.”

“Oh, since I learned to read, probably,” Gemma says.

“I used to play with your grandfather, before he passed away,” Anne says softly. She smiles at Gemma. “Gemma always wanted to be able to play, too.”

“My, erm, Laura likes Scrabble too, 'cause she's a teacher. Niall won't usually play with us, though.”

“Oh!” Anne frowns. “Should we have invited her to play too?”

“Oh...” Harry bites his lip. “She, they've gone out for a walk, I think, so that's okay.”

There aren't many of them at Sandringham for these first few days: not counting the small army of staff, there's just Anne, Gemma, Harry, Louis and his whole family, Laura, Bill, and Niall. They all want so much of Harry's time, though. Only Louis' family doesn't demand much of him. Louis' sisters seem fascinated by him, but very unsure, and they keep their distance. They want a lot of Louis. This in turn means that on the rare occasions that Louis is in the same room as him, he's usually distracted by a sibling or by his mother. It's disappointing. Harry reasons, though, that he's already connected with Louis, and there'll be time and space back in London to talk more and straighten things out.

Bill and Laura are clingy one moment, excusing themselves from the scene and giving him space the next. He makes sure to spend some time with them every day, often with Niall too. Sometimes they just sit and stare at the magnificent surroundings and laugh. Laura shakes her head and says, “I don't know how I'm ever going to get my students to focus when I'm back at school. They're going to have so many questions.”

“I worry about Niall going back to school after all of this...” Bill frowns into the distance.

Harry murmurs, “I'm going to have an allowance at some point. I bet I can support you, if you need to take some time off to deal with things.”

Laura waves a hand in dismissal and says with forced humour, “Don't think about it, dear. Not having to feed you any more will free up so much money, you know.”

He keeps playing his afternoon Scrabble games with Gemma and Anne. Guilt gnaws at him for not inviting his mum, but it's such a special time with just the three of them. It doesn't quite make sense, but somehow, staring at letter tiles and a game board makes him feel so much closer to Anne.

He gets a nasty shock on Thursday when Anne lays down _presents_ (26 points). “Oh, god, I haven't gotten anyone a Christmas present!” he exclaims in horror.

Anne starts laughing, freer than he's heard yet. “Oh! Oh, sweetie, have you not heard how we do Christmas gifts here?”

Harry blinks at here. “Erm... I guess... not? Do you not give presents?”

“Ooh, we give presents.” Gemma grins. “Like the _worst_ presents. Last year I gave Mum a bathrobe that has 'Bad Bitch' embroidered on it.”

“What?” Harry sputters, wide-eyed.

“She totally wears it, too.”

“Yes, we're not exactly serious with our Christmas presents,” Anne smiles. “So don't worry about it. Well, you won't win in the game of one-upmanship this year, but you can use this to study up and prepare for next year.”

Gemma puts a hand next to her mouth and stage-whispers to him, “I've got a stash. I'll hook you up.”

“I'm sure I didn't hear that. Your turn, Harry, dear,” Anne says neutrally, picking up a bite of cake on her fork.

He rushes off shortly after their game finishes to round up his family. “Did any of you bring Christmas presents?” he asks frantically once he has them cornered in Niall's room.

Bill and Laura frown, confused. Laura answers. “Yes, for you boys, of course. I brought the queen and the princess some nice preserves and some local things – I thought, we probably can't afford anything that's up to their usual standard, but local stuff is a bit different, at least.”

“Okay, so apparently they just give each other joke gifts,” Harry explains. “So what you brought for them, that's probably good actually, although maybe they'll laugh about it because they'll feel like it's a joke, I don't know? But whatever's just between us, I don't know, maybe we should, like, exchange our presents secretly.”

Bill laughs and throws an arm around his shoulder in a rough hug. “You're worrying too much, lad. Sure, that'll be fine.”

Harry presses his lips together, feeling silly. “You think I'm worrying too much?”

“Oh, Dad's just trying to say it'll all be all right.” Laura pats his cheek. “Don't worry, sweetheart.”

It's not bad. People want a lot from him, but there are a lot of hours in the day. Formal meals at set times are compulsory, but he's free from any lessons for the rest of the month. The only other obligation is the nightly post-dinner briefing.

The public relations team is keeping tabs on the responses in the media and on social media. The family is being encouraged to stay away from the news and rely on the short briefings. “It's all so volatile – someone says something inflammatory, it blows up for an hour, and then it blows over,” Luke says, waving his hands. “It'll only stress you out to keep up with it.” Harry's Twitter handle gets changed from @harry_horan to @HRH_Harry, as all of the good variants on “Prince Harry” were already taken. That's done by the social media team, though, not by Harry himself.

There's a lot of shock throughout the country and the world. There are more than a few calls for the queen's abdication. That's not the mainstream view, but still, there's no shortage of outrage over the deception.

There's some sympathy playing on the kidnapping angle, especially once every one of the selected newspapers publish their confirmations that Anne and Harry are mother and son. The PR team rustles up mothers of kidnapped children to tell their stories. They show up on talk shows, tearful and emotional, pulling at heart strings. “It's so unsavoury to drag them into this after what they've been through,” Anne sighs. “But they're the only ones who know what it's like. They can help the people understand. I've met with them and I'll talk to them again... I hope that's a little compensation.”

Harry's stomach drops when Luke tells him that there are articles saying that the royal family should reject him. “Mostly things like, he wasn't raised royal, he's not even really English, he doesn't understand, he's not suitable.”

“We don't care about any of that,” Anne tells him fiercely, gripping his hand hard. “There's been far, far worse in this family than you, love. They'll see and they'll come around.”

He dwells on it, though. He'd known that people would blame the crown, the family, the government. He hadn't realised he'd become a target of anger, too. Foolish, in hindsight. Of course he would. Everyone loves a scapegoat.

There are loads of conspiracy theorists, too. Providing their DNA samples at least helped to keep that out of the mainstream: it's hard now to claim that Harry isn't really part of the family, or that Louis is the real prince but he's being ousted for mysterious, scandalous reasons, for example.

“It's so weird to be cooped up in here and hearing about it all second-hand,” Gemma muses after a few days of this.

“I'm happy to pretend for a bit that the people who hate us don't exist,” Louis shrugs. “If we had enough people here for a proper game of football I wouldn't mind at all. Kicking the ball around with my sisters isn't very challenging, though.”

“At least you get a lot of running in chasing after the balls that don't get anywhere near you,” Jay laughs.

Louis sighs. “Which is basically all of them. Mother, these girls can apply mascara perfectly but not one of them can bend a ball. What are you teaching them, honestly?”

Gemma and Jay both sit up, clearly ready to give him a piece of their minds, when a phone starts ringing. Louis pulls his mobile from his pocket and flinches when he sees the screen. “Sorry, kill me later, I need to take this.”

“Louis, we're not done here yet!” Anne exclaims, but Louis just grimaces apologetically and darts out of the room.

Gemma frowns suspiciously and mutters irritably under her breath, but the briefing breaks up long before Louis can reappear and face any recriminations.

 

* * *

 

During their first days at Sandringham, Louis lets his family take up his time and drag him around because he still can't figure out how to talk to Harry about what happened that last night in London. By Wednesday, he's been so preoccupied with his other planning that he still hasn't solved the Harry issue. However, tomorrow is Christmas Eve, the day the extended family will arrive. It's going to be a long, trying day, and he's worried about Harry.

Late at night, he texts him: _You still up ?_

Harry's reply comes within a minute: _yeah, whats up?_

Louis writes back: _Us apparently._

Harry: _Ha ha. Seriously tho. ??_

Louis: _I just wanted to talk to you . Want to come over?_

Harry makes him sweat a little, but within a few minutes, he gets an answer: _Yeah, ok. Will b there in a sec._

It doesn't take long for Harry to slip into Louis' room, his slender frame swamped by a hugely oversized hoodie. He stands awkwardly by the door, greeting Louis with a soft, “Um, hey, Lou.”

The bedrooms at Sandringham House are small and simple. In their London rooms, everyone has at least a sofa or a few armchairs, if not an entire separate sitting room. The rooms here are comparatively spartan. Louis' been put in one of the lower-ranking rooms at Sandringham this year. It doesn't have any chairs at all, just the small bed with its vintage wool blankets.

Louis has been sprawled on the bed scrolling through his phone, but when Harry enters, he sits and scoots to the head end. “Come on, might as well sit, it's all I have to offer,” he says, patting the foot of the bed.

Harry approaches slowly, sitting so that he leaves a good two feet of space between them.

Louis meant to talk to him about Christmas, but Harry's caution instantly annoys him. “So, is that how it is? Like, you just won't touch me at all because I won't put out, then?”

“What?” Harry's brow falls into deep creases as he frowns. He looks genuinely confused. “No! I'm just, like... giving you space! It seemed like, like I made you uncomfortable, went too far, you know, so I'm trying to, er, let you, er, make the moves? I just don't want to... pressure you?”

“Oh. Huh.” Louis leans back on his hands, giving Harry a long, skeptical look. “All right.”

Harry nods, staring at Louis intensely.

He's actually being rather sweet. Louis should probably give him the kiss that he's obviously hoping for. Louis _wants_ to kiss him. However – there's an agenda here, and it doesn't involve kissing Harry senseless and completely forgetting about anything else. Not yet, anyway.

“So I wanted to talk to you about tomorrow.”

Harry slumps. “Oh. What about it?”

“Well, you're going to meet everyone. Well, no, not everyone, but a lot of people. Anne showed me your schedule. You're basically holding audiences and receiving people for half the day.”

“Ugh, I know.” Harry scrubs a hand through his messy hair. “I'm exhausted already just thinking about it. Look, Jon and Luke made me this...” He pulls a stapled stack of folded papers from the pocket of his hoodie and passes it over.

Louis flips through it curiously. There's a photograph or two and a short biography of everyone, along with a family tree at the end. “This is pretty good. Did they tell you about who knows already?”

“Yeah, but I kind of forgot.”

“Okay, grab a pen, I'm going to give you some tips. Okay, Maggie is your aunt, she knows. She's great, she's going to love you, you don't need to worry about her at all. Her kids didn't know but they're really little. Let's see the schedule... Oh, yeah, okay, so basically, you've got the more distant cousins and stuff arriving earliest. The late arrivals, the close family, they're gonna know already. That's a whole hierarchy thing, by the way; the higher your rank, the later you get to show up. So morning's going to be the hard part. All of these, they don't know. Okay, Claire never liked me anyway, so she'll probably be fine with you. Phil, he can be prickly, but if you can get him talking about his horses, you can get him to warm up...”

Somehow they move closer together as they talk. By the time they've gone through all the papers, Louis is pressed up against Harry, cheek resting on his shoulder. “All the Christmas stuff is kind of non-stop, like, every moment is scheduled, so it's exhausting, but it is loads of fun. The food is great and everyone's on their best behaviour, mostly because they're trying to impress Anne, but still. So it's a lot all at once but it's a good time to meet everyone. No one's really going to have time to, like, corner you and interrogate you, and they'll be nice to you to get in good with Anne. That gives you time to charm them.”

“Charm them?” Harry giggles, turning his head a little toward Louis.

“Yes, it's what you do.” Louis pokes him in the cheek. “Annoying charming bastard. Hey, what time is it?”

“You're the one wearing a watch, you tell me.”

Louis rolls his eyes, but then concedes to look at his watch. He grins. “It's after midnight. You know what that means?”

“It's... Christmas Eve?”

“No! Well, yes. Trick question.” Lowering his voice to a whisper, as if confiding a secret, Louis says, “It's my birthday.”

“Oh! Happy birthday!” Harry twists so he can look at Louis more directly. Louis thinks this is a bit rude, as it forces him to stop leaning up against Harry. He's smiling, but then it falls into a pout. “Oh, sorry, I didn't know. I didn't get you anything.”

“Didn't you, though?” Grinning, Louis leans forward, arms going up behind Harry's neck to pull him in.


	13. Chapter 13

The lull before the Christmas Eve dinner finds Harry hiding in the kitchen, sucking down a pot of coffee. The kitchen staff seem _very_ amused. That's fine. They don't want anything from him except for him to stay out of their way. He likes them.

“Do you all work here all year?” he curiously asks a young woman who is diligently chopping carrots.

“Hmm? No, Her Majesty's only in residence here for a few months of the year. In the summer the house is open for tours, did you know? So no one stays here and then the kitchen's not used at all.”

“Huh. How weird.” Harry looks around the cavernous kitchen. “I guess it's not that different to, like, renting out your place on AirBnB when you're out of town.”

The woman laughs. “I suppose so! Just a different scale, innit.”

Harry smiles and downs another cup of coffee. He's definitely going to get yelled at for disappearing but he's not sorry. The day has been more exhausting so far than he could have imagined. He's not even sure who was worse, those who knew about him or those who didn't.

His family, it turns out, is _huge._

In spite of all of the Catholic stereotypes, his Irish family isn't large. Laura is an only child and Bill just has one bachelor brother, so he and Niall don't have any first cousins. Now he has five just on his mother's side. He even has second cousins who he's supposed to actually know. His head is spinning from the parade of posh nobles who are, somehow, his relatives.

“Not long now until the first course is out, love,” the woman with the carrots tells him gently. “I mean, sir.”

“I like 'love' better.” Harry sighs and drains his coffee. “Thanks for letting me hide out.”

She nods. “Good luck out there.”

Gemma, wearing a forest-green dress that skims the floor, scoops him up the moment he appears in the drawing room. “Oh, Harry, Uncle James and I were just talking about a trip he took to Ireland a few years ago! I was saying how much I want to visit. Come talk with us!”

He smiles gratefully at her. James is Anne's sister Margaret's much older husband, a gentle man with an impressively thick salt-and-pepper mustache. He's a very pleasant conversation partner.

Gemma, Louis, and Louis' family seem to be running interference for them tonight. Jay is standing with Niall, talking to some cousins, while Louis is showing Bill some paintings and Laura is sitting with two of Louis' sisters. When they're seated for dinner, Harry is gratified to see that none of his family is stranded without someone nearby who they already know.

Louis' family is amazingly confident in the rarefied company. It baffles Harry a little. Of course they've all known Anne and Gemma for a long time, and they've spent a lot of time in the palace, so it makes sense that they're somewhat comfortable, but they're new to these people, too.

 _Except they're not,_ he realises. Of course: Jay has been around forever, and her family has probably been underfoot from time to time. Everyone who wasn't in the loop just thought she was the nanny, but they've known her for ages. She must even have been to these Christmas celebrations before in her capacity as the royal nanny.

The dinner is actually quite merry. There are plenty of awkward moments, but most of the guests have enough manners and social skills to keep the conversation flowing fairly smoothly. The food is excellent, so it also provides a terrific distraction, at least until they're too full to eat any more.

As they wait for the dessert course, Harry suddenly remembers that it’s Louis’ birthday. No one has mentioned it. He whispers to Gemma, who’s sitting next to him, “Hey, are we doing anything for Louis’ birthday?”

Gemma looks startled. “I don’t know if anyone thought of it. I suppose we’ve never actually celebrated his real birthday - we’re always with the whole family on Christmas Eve and so we had to celebrate his birthday on, well, on your birthday.”

“He’s never gotten to celebrate on his actual birthday?!”

“Well, there were a few years there where we pretended he was really sick and quarantined away, so I reckon he did then. It’s been a long time, though.” Gemma frowns, tapping her nails against the table. “I might be able to discreetly ask Mum about it. I’ll try.”

Gemma makes her way over to the head of the table and whispers to Anne for a minute. She slips out of the room for a minute after that, but returns in short order. Harry looks at her curiously, but she just presses a finger to her lips and smiles at him.

When the staff bring in the dessert course, there’s a little candle flickering away on Louis’ slice of cake. Louis looks absolutely shocked.

A few murmurs can already be heard around the table when Anne says, in a calm but carrying voice, “I suppose many of you don’t know that today is our Louis’ actual birthday. Happy birthday, dear.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Louis says, polite and pink-cheeked.

They don’t sing, but almost everyone calls out a “happy birthday” with varying degrees of enthusiasm. Louis thanks them and blows out his candle. In a moment, conversations around the table resume and move on, but Harry notices that Louis doesn’t stop smiling until well after the desserts have been cleared away.

At that point, they adjourn to another room for Christmas gifts. The room has been rearranged, couches and armchairs strewn around the perimeter, two long tables of presents in the middle. Anne naturally claims the most beautiful chair and gestures for Harry and Gemma to sit flanking her. The young children run around and deliver the gifts to the seated adults. There are loads of toys for the little ones, a number of which make obnoxious loud noises. Harry laughs quietly into his hands when he sees the glares the parents shoot over those ones.

For the adults, the gifts lean toward the absurd: a shower cap for a bald man; colour-changing scented nail polish; ugly mugs with stupid slogans; trinkets that will be misplaced or discarded within days. Louis laughs over a mug reading “CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR DEMOTION!” until tears run down his face.

Gemma passes Harry a box. When he opens it, a balloon floats up to the ceiling, blue and printed with a cheerful “Welcome Baby Boy!”

“Oh, come on,” Harry groans. Many people laugh at the balloon, but then an even louder wave of laughter erupts. He turns and sees a grinning servant emerging through a doorway holding the long strings of what must be at least a dozen balloons, all printed with various baby and baby-boy messages. The servant passes him the balloons, and he stares up at them in dismay.

“Oh, cousin Harry, can I have one?”one of his little cousins immediately asks. The boy clasps his chubby hands under his chin and stares up at him with wide eyes. “Pleeeeeaaase?”

Harry likes these kids: the young ones accepted him so quickly and they happily treat him as though they've known him for all of their short lives. They also, as it turns out, are a great means for ridding himself of the balloons.

Unfortunately for Harry, it’s not that easy to escape from the embarrassing gift. Niall grabs his wrist and quickly ties one of the balloons onto it. Harry sits back with a resigned sigh. Moments later, he feels a strange tugging in his hair. “Whoa, what's going on back there?”

Gemma actually snorts. “Nothing.”

“Louis' tying a balloon to your hair,” Niall informs him.

“What, no, stop him!” Harry reaches for the balloons, but Louis immediately swats his hand away, and Niall grabs his arm so he can’t interfere again.

“It looks great, Curly, don't mess with it!” Louis says sternly.

“If I lose any hair over this, I swear, Louis...”

“Oh, what're you going to do, then?” Louis sticks his tongue out and then dances away, laughing.

Harry really wishes now that he'd taken Gemma up on her offer for the “demotion” mug to come from Harry instead of her. That fucker. The balloon tugging on his hair as it floats gently above his head is _not_ comfortable.

No one will let him take it out all night, either. Every time he tries, someone always pops up and stops him.  At least he's not alone in his ridiculousness - his Aunt Maggie is wearing a cow-print onesie and one of the distant cousins is wearing a hat with big floppy ears - but their stupid outfits aren't threatening to rip out their hair.

After hours of merriment, Anne takes herself off to bed, admonishing everyone to rest and be up early for church. Most of the guests do indeed head off to their rooms shortly thereafter. Pondering his balloon situation, Harry suddenly realises the brilliance of Louis' actions.

“Lou!” he calls across the room. “I'm going to bed – come help me with this stupid balloon.”

“Oh, sorry, Maggie, I'd better go deal with this,” Louis excuses himself. “All right, then, H, calm down. Yes, yes, I'll help, fine.”

Harry has to walk holding the balloon down to relieve the tension from the string. Alone in a corridor on the next floor up, Harry whispers, “I'm sure you could've gotten me alone without tearing my hair out.”

“You're so dramatic, your hair is fine. Here we are, then. Sit down, no, there on the bed. Don't show off just because you have a chair in your room and I don't.”

Harry plops down on the bed, bouncing slightly. Louis stops and considers him for a moment. Then, with no warning or ceremony, he steps forward, plants a knee on the bed, and swings himself up so that he's on his knees, straddling Harry.

Harry's mouth goes dry. Louis' stomach is inches from his face, and he thinks about biting, or kissing, or _something._ He doesn't. He does, however, carefully settle his hands on Louis' hips.

“Don't get fresh with me,” Louis warns. He doesn't actually tell Harry to move his hands away, though. Harry feels tugging on his hair as Louis works on the knot of the balloon string.

“I'm keeping you stable,” Harry answers seriously. He tries to look up at Louis, but Louis presses his head down as soon as it starts to move. Harry shivers.

“Do you want me to untie this balloon or not? Stay still.”

“How much did you have to drink tonight?”

“Not too much. Shh.”

It's quiet for a few minutes. Harry is trying to work out what he could do that doesn't fall into the ill-defined category of _getting fresh._ Louis, Harry presumes, is still untying that stupid balloon.

“Ah! Got it.” Louis sits down on Harry's legs, smiling triumphantly.

Harry looks up to see the balloon floating against the ceiling. “Do I see some of my hair still stuck to the string?”

“Hello, focus on the boy sitting on your lap, please.”

“You're not in my lap, you're, like, hovering over my knees.”

Louis rolls his eyes. With an annoyed huff, he shifts forward. “Who made you the boss of what a lap is, anyway.”

“I seriously don't... I have no idea what you're going for here, man.”

“Do I really have to spell it out?” Louis sounds deeply annoyed.

“I'd appreciate it if you did,” Harry murmurs, but he thinks he gets the gist well enough now. He leans forward and gives Louis what he wants.

They kiss for a while there, Louis pressed up against him, Harry's hands rubbing Louis' back before skimming over his thighs and then returning. It's a pretty great position, honestly, Louis' bum pressed against him, having to tilt his chin up just slightly to reach Louis' mouth.

Louis pulls away slightly and asks, “Do you want to...?”

Harry waits for a long moment, but Louis doesn't seem inclined to finish the sentence. “Do I want to... what?”

“You know!” Louis snaps.

“I do not know,” Harry says carefully.

“I mean. Like, whatever you were going to do, the other night? You know?”

“Oooh. I guess...” Harry leans back. “Do _you_ want to?”

Louis looks down, fingers fidgeting with Harry's collar. “Would I have asked if I didn't want to?” he scoffs.

“Yeah, so, that's really not a yes...?” He tilts his head, trying to see Louis' face. “I seriously don't want to do something if you don't _want_ it.”

“Ugh!” Louis presses his hands to his face. Voice slightly muffled, he exclaims, “I want to want it! I just don't know what I'm getting myself into here! It's not fair!”

Harry bites his lip, trying not to laugh. “I'm not really sure how to help you there, love.”

“I hate you,” Louis groans, burying his face in Harry's neck. Harry strokes his back and hopes it's soothing. Then he nibbles on Louis' ear a little, for no better reason than that it's right there. It makes Louis giggle and squirm a little, which is fun.

“Stop – oh!” He sits up suddenly. “You should tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“What you were going to do,” Louis says. “Tell me about it. And, and kiss me more. So I could know.”

“I...” Harry stares at him, feeling a deep blush spread across his cheeks. He goes for the easy out: “I can't talk and kiss you at the same time.”

“Oh, come _on.”_ Louis hunches forward, skimming his lips over Harry's neck and murmuring, “Look, 's not that hard, I'm sure you can...”

“ _Oh.”_ Harry shivers as Louis' lips catch and slide on his skin. “Oh. Well...”

Well. Shit. How can he say no to that?

“So... so. Okay. Yeah. Yep, I can do that.”

“You're not inspiring confidence here, Curly.”

“Oh, shut up. Okay, here.” Harry pulls Louis down onto the bed and arranges them so that they're facing each other. He props himself up on an elbow so he can kiss lightly along Louis' jaw and he tries desperately to think. “Okay. So I was going to, erm, put my hand on you, like, squeeze and rub a little. And if you liked that, then I would've, er, unbuttoned your trousers and, erm, I guess put my hand inside your pants and...”

He's undone a few buttons of Louis' shirt, and now he pushes it to the side so he can suck a bruise into Louis' chest where no one will see it. He's mainly trying to buy time, but the way Louis whimpers is very distracting. He pulls back after a minute and goes back to lighter caresses. “I'd start stroking your c-cock,” he manages to say, face flaming.

“Like, hard or soft? Fast or slow?” Louis demands.

“Umm.” It's so difficult to try to picture the imaginary scenario when could just be _doing_ this. He slowly answers, “Firm, but slow, at first. I'd... yeah. Wait until it seemed like you wanted more. Then I'd go faster. Pull you out of your pants, probably, so I could get a better angle.”

“Hmm.” Louis is shifting restlessly on the bed, but his tone is aiming for nonchalant. “Why would I want, though... I mean, I can jerk myself off, can't I.”

Harry laughs and pulls back a little. “Well, yeah, but it's different with someone else. Like... it's not just about, erm, getting off as quickly as possible, you know? It's, like, more exciting just because it's someone else.”

“Sounds like you know from experience.”

“Yeah, erm, I had a boyfriend in year ten for a little bit.”

“Oh.” Louis is fidgeting with Harry's shirt again. “Isn't it ridiculous that we're lying on your bed still dressed in suits at this hour. What... kinds of things did you guys do?”

“Uh, you know, fooled around.”

Louis pouts. “That could mean anything.”

“Well, jeez, I didn't think you'd want every detail. Well, we didn't, like, 'go all the way', if that's what you're asking.” 

“Did you ever blow him?” Louis asks bluntly.

“Uh, whoa.”

Louis' voice drops, gets huskier. “Would you blow me?”

Harry blinks at him, stunned. “Right now?”

Louis shakes his head. “Just, like, in theory.”

Harry moves in and kisses him, a hot slide of lips and tongues that has Louis clutching him and fidgeting in minutes. “Yeah, I would,” Harry murmurs when he finally breaks the kiss.

“Oh,” Louis gasps, and he sits up suddenly. “I need to go back to my room now.”

Harry giggles helplessly. “Um, okay.”

“Yep.” Louis stands, shucking off his jacket and draping it over his arm so it's held in front of his body. “Okay, Harry, I'll, oh god, see you for church tomorrow,” he says in a strained voice, and then he's darting out of the room.

Harry sighs into the silence that Louis leaves behind. “I could've helped you with that, you know.” 

 

* * *

 

Harry has never in his life been this nervous about going to church. No confession, no matter how shameful, made him feel this terrified. Even his first time setting foot in church after realising that he was gay wasn't this bad.

At least that was something he could work out in private. Today he has to parade in front of a crowd – no car protecting him this time from the onlookers and the paparazzi. He won't even have his parents or Niall with him, all of them having refused to attend the Anglican service. It feels like his first time truly stepping into public as a prince.

“Stop touching your hair. You look great,” Gemma whispers as the car rolls toward the church.

Harry grimaces. He'd somehow been convinced to style his hair pulled straight back from his face. It's still kind of poofy and curly in the back and he's fairly sure that he looks ridiculous. “It looks stupid.”

“All right, chins up, children, we're nearly there!” Anne interrupts. “Look pleasant, stop scowling, Harry, they might photograph us through the windows.”

“There's a thought to make me smile.” Harry pastes on a big fake smile that makes Gemma roll her eyes.

“It's just a quick walk. It'll be over before you know it.” She pats him on the knee. “So pull yourself together.”

That actually makes him laugh, earning him a wink from Gemma.

“Showtime, everyone!” Anne declares brightly.

The car door is opened from the outside. Gemma steps out first, beaming and throwing the crowd a small wave. She looks fantastic, her red coat and matching lipstick bright against her pale skin. A cheer goes up immediately, but the volume easily doubles when Harry steps out of the car.

He's wearing a long wool coat in a green fabric so dark that it's nearly back, a lighter green tie visible at his throat. It's another outfit that he didn't choose, but it is a nice one. He hopes, as he hears the camera shutters clicking away like a swarm of insects, that it photographs well.

Anne steps out of the car a moment later, regal and smiling in a camel coat and a fur hat. She walks around from the other side of the car and joins them in front of it, striding confidently down the gravel path. “Everyone else is already inside,” she tells them. “Just walk along as if no one were there.”

“This is really weird,” Harry says, trying to keep his face smooth and pleasant. “How do you just ignore dozens of people?”

“You're doing great, actually,” Gemma says. “I mean you couldn't possibly acknowledge all of them, so you just move along.”

“Sometimes we do stop and shake hands and all that—” Anne pauses and presses her lips together as a particularly ear-piercing round of shrieks rings out. “Not today, though.”

Inside the building, Harry sags into the pew with a heavy sigh. Dimly, he notices that the little church is very beautiful, but he cares more about the fact that he's inside and safe for now.

“It probably won't surprise you to hear that it's usually not that much of a circus,” Gemma notes dryly.

“You don't say.”

If he had thought that church would be in any way relaxing, he was wrong. It's all a bit uncanny because so many of the trappings are similar to what he's used to, but everything is just a little bit different from the Catholic church.  

Also, the bishop is a woman.

He's all for that in theory, but it just feels weird.

At least it's a fairly short service. Then he only has to brave the crowd once more before they can get back to the celebrations and the blessed isolation of the estate.

 

* * *

 

Another change to file away: his family Christmas is now a semi-public event that generates a public reaction and requires a debrief with the palace's public relations team.

Jon, looking serious and distracted, tells them, “Well, we're getting a lot of press out of Harry being seen going to the church. Mostly good.”

“What do you mean? Like, we looked good?” Harry asks.

“No, that's not what I meant – although, yes, people are mostly saying that you all looked good. They like Gemma's coat a lot and most of them say you all looked relaxed, cheerful, and healthy. A few articles talking about the 'obvious tension' but those are from papers whose agenda is already obvious. No, but it's largely been good that you were seen at a C of E service. There've been a lot of complaints that we haven't addressed your religion yet.”

“Oh.” Damn. Somehow he'd hoped that this wouldn't come up yet. Or, like, ever.

“I do hope you'll think about converting,” Anne says earnestly. “You're not actually in the line of succession until you do, you know.”

“Yeah, I know.” He sighs. He's not entirely sure that being excluded from the succession is a negative. On the other hand, he thinks being part of the Church of England might be okay. At the moment, they're having a big fight over whether to ordain and marry gay people. He's not sure which side will win, but the fact that it's in question at all looks very positive from his perspective. He can’t see the Catholic church pursuing that anytime soon. Plus, that whole Protestant personal-relationship-with-God thing is appealing. “I'll consider it, really, but... it's not my top priority to figure out right now, you know?”

Anne nods. “I can understand that. I'm happy that you'll consider it. You know you can always come to services with me. And I know some wonderful priests and theologians who would be happy to talk to you.”

He smiles politely. “Yeah, we'll see.”


	14. Chapter 14

Louis shouldn't go to Harry's room tonight. He should probably be leaving Harry alone, keeping some distance.

He really, really shouldn't go to Harry's room tonight.

Except he really, _really_ wants to.

He almost hopes that Harry won't answer the quiet knock on his door. But he does, standing there beaming with his glossy curls and his gleaming green eyes, and there's no other choice for Louis but to step forward, cup Harry's face in his hands, and kiss him deeply.

Harry wraps an arm around his waist to steer him inside so that the door has room to close. He does it so smoothly that they don't even have to break the kiss. Strangely, it's _that_ that makes Louis burn, desperate to see what else Harry can do with such unusual grace and confidence.

He slides his hands down to Harry's shoulders and starts pushing, following hungrily as Harry steps backward. Harry gets the hint and takes the lead, quite literally: he manages to steer them through a few turns, turning Louis' rush to the bedroom into a shuffling slow dance that has them both giggling through kisses. Then they're collapsing awkwardly onto the bed, sinking down onto their sides. It doesn't give Louis the delicious pressure and leverage that he gets when one of them is on top of the other, but it does give Louis room to start working open the buttons on Harry's shirt.

“Were you expecting me?” he asks, fingers fumbling.

“Hmm?” Harry props himself up on an elbow to mouth along the shell of Louis' ear, making him shiver.

“It's so late but you're still all dressed up from dinner.”

“Oh.” He feels Harry smile where he's kissing down Louis' neck. “Yeah, I thought, you showed up all late at night on _your_ birthday, so...”

Louis raises his wrist so he can see his watch. “Ha! Two minutes past midnight. Happy birthday, Harry.”

Harry kisses him on the mouth again, then pulls back to grin at him. “It's my first time getting a happy birthday on my real birthday.”

“I know.” 

Harry's grin widens wickedly. “Are you my present?”

Louis starts laughing, cheeks flaming. God, he's so _nervous._ “That's the idea, yeah,” he answers, voice embarrassingly breathy.

“Oh.” Harry pulls back and stares at him, searching his face. Louis doesn't know what he's looking for, but he must find it, because after a long moment he ventures, “Does this mean I get to unwrap you?”

It's like a bolt of lightning deep in Louis' gut. “Oh,” he sighs softly. He hadn't quite thought... “I mean, let's not rush into anything. I know you're not the type to just rip off the paper in a big hurry.”

“Yeah,” Harry says quietly. He captures Louis' lips in another kiss, and it's slow, but there's a pressure there, a sense of purpose. He eases Louis over onto his back and hovers over him, leaning a bit to the side so he's not putting all his weight on Louis. One of his legs slots between Louis' so that Louis has to open his legs a little, sliding one foot up the bed and leaning his leg against Harry's. Harry's hand skims along Louis' waist, sliding under his t-shirt and up his side, short nails scratching lightly along Louis' ribs. His hand feels so large and warm, so sure as it moves over Louis' skin with just the right amount of pressure. Even through their trousers, he can feel Harry's hard dick pressing against his thigh, Harry's legs lined up next to his. He can reach up and run his own hand along Harry's chest, the expanse of pale skin framed by his unbuttoned shirt; he can feel firm muscle under soft, yielding skin. He can't seem to breathe right. His breath keeps catching on these little gasps and he can't make them even out.

He rolls his hips toward Harry, seeking friction with a small whine. Harry, though, doesn't seem to get the hint. His hands keep roaming Louis' body, his ribs, stomach, chest, even his hips and thighs. He keeps getting so close to that hot, heavy ache between Louis' legs but he doesn't _get there._

Harry's hand teases across his hipbone, but then it starts to retreat upwards yet again, and Louis can't take this anymore. “Would you just _touch me_ already,” he snaps, and then he grabs Harry's hand and puts it right where he wants it. His gasp probably ruins anything impressive about his moment of bravado but oh fucking well.

Harry's grinning again, so bloody smug, and— “Were you waiting for me to do that?” Louis asks incredulously.

“I wanted to be sure you really wanted it,” Harry says.

“Well, I fucking do, you tease, so would you just— _oh.”_

Harry's mostly just squeezing, pulsing pressure on his shaft, and it's already so much, and he still wants more. “You can—it doesn't have to be over my clothes,” Louis says shakily, and apparently that's all the invitation Harry needs. He reaches into Louis' joggers, and his arm pushes the elastic waist down so that Louis can see and feel the moment that Harry's long fingers wrap around Louis' naked cock. It looks obscene and fantastic. He watches the slow up-and-down of Harry's hand in complete fascination. His mind is spinning, cataloguing everything about this moment, the differences in pressure and tempo.

He's so hyper-focused on what's happening with his dick that it takes him a while to realise that he's hearing small moans from Harry, feeling Harry grinding against his leg with little jerks that he seems unable to control. He looks up, and Harry's face might just be an even more beautiful sight than Harry's hand working him. Harry's face is flushed with hectic spots of red blotching his cheeks, his lips red and plump from the way he's biting them, and he looks absolutely transfixed watching his hand on Louis. It's an easy moment to get lost in, watching Harry watching him, until Harry's dry fingers catch on his skin painfully. He draws in an involuntary hiss of breath.

Harry immediately looks up in concern. “Sorry.”

“'s okay. Just, do you have some lotion or something?”

“I – well, I do, but I was thinking – if you want, erm, I was thinking, I'd go down on you, if you want, and I, er, wouldn't want the lotion then.”

“Oh.” Huh. He's never thought of that before. Lotion taste in the mouth probably isn't great. “Erm, yeah, that's, that sounds... good.”

“Are you sure?” Harry presses. “Don't say yes just because I want it.”

Louis stares at him in amazement. “You want to?”

“Yeah.”

“Wow. Cool.” It's probably the dumbest thing Louis' ever said. Harry snickers. He goes on in a rush, “Yeah, yes, that's, I want that, yeah. Um. How should we...?”

“Let's... you sit on the edge of the bed.”

Louis scoots obediently, swinging his legs down to the floor. Harry gets up and walks around to stand in front of Louis. “Can I take your shirt off?” he asks. Louis nods, so Harry stoops to tug Louis' white t-shirt over his head. Then he kisses Louis, slow and sweet, before sinking to his knees in one smooth motion.

He's an absolute vision, softly illuminated in the dark bedroom by the light coming through the open door from the sitting room. Louis leans forward to run his fingers through Harry's wild hair just for the sake of feeling it. “Is this really happening? Am I actually this lucky?” Louis murmurs.

Harry smiles. “Lift up your butt, let me pull your pants down.”

He pushes his hips up while Harry pulls at his clothes, and now he's basically naked with Harry in front of him, looking at him, which is mildly terrifying.

Harry leans forward and, to Louis' surprise, starts mouthing at his stomach, smearing kisses across his body. Louis giggles nervously. “What're you doing?”

“'s called foreplay, look it up,” Harry mumbles. “Your abs looked really hot when you did that.”

Louis looks down at his slender torso in surprise. Hot? Abs? Whatever, he'll take it.

Harry doesn't make him beg for it this time. He presses more kisses down Louis' stomach, and then suddenly he's kissing up the length of his shaft, wet, open-mouthed kisses that have Louis taking shallow, shocked breaths. Then he’s wrapping his red lips around the head of Louis' cock, and it looks and feel so amazing that he moans without meaning to, so loud. He immediately brings his hand to his mouth, biting down on his knuckles, but just as quickly Harry's hand is there, pulling down on his arm.

“I want to hear you, please,” Harry says politely. Then, he takes Louis back into his mouth without waiting for an answer. His hand slips from Louis' arm to rest lightly on his abdomen; his other hand wraps loosely around the base of his cock. He sinks down on it, taking most of it into his mouth, and the wet heat of it, the pressure of Harry's tongue, the sight of his lips stretched so obscenely, it's all so good that Louis actually sobs. Harry moans, and Louis can feel the vibration of it around him.

“Oh, god,” Louis groans. Harry starts moving, bobbing up and down on Louis' cock. Once Louis is slick with spit, Harry starts moving his hand, his fingers following his lips with a ring of pressure. “Oh, god, I'm, I'm going to—”

Harry moans and doesn't stop moving. “Seriously, I'm—oh my god—” Louis gasps, and then he's coming, shooting deep into Harry's mouth, and Harry just slides his mouth down Louis' cock and takes it, looks up at Louis through his eyelashes and swallows, even waits a moment to be sure he's got it all before pulling off.

Louis collapses back onto the bed, breathing heavily and not even caring that he's laying there with his knob out because that was the most amazing thing ever to happen to him, ever. He feels the bed dip and manages to turn his head enough to see Harry, sitting next to him now. “You swallowed,” he says in awe.

Harry huffs out a laugh. “It's not a big deal? Just, no mess.” He's a little breathless, too, and at first Louis thinks it's just from the blow job, but then Louis realises that Harry's got his dick out and is quickly jerking himself off. Harry has also, at some point, cast off his shirt. Louis genuinely has no idea when that happened.

“Oh,” Louis breaths, scrambling to sit up. “Maybe I can...?” He lifts a hand and waggles his fingers uncertainly.

Harry blinks at him. “Oh! Erm, yeah, of course. Here, let me just...” He shifts over so that he can reach his nightstand to pull out a bottle of lotion. Eyebrows raised, he offers it to Louis. Louis takes it. Harry had made the blow job thing look very doable, maybe even enjoyable, but Louis thinks, _one step at a time, now._ A hand job seems like a very sensible place to start. He dumps a generous squirt of lotion into this hand, rubs it around a little, and then – then he stops, frowning.

“I'm not really sure of my angle, here,” he confesses.

Harry groans. “I seriously don't even care at this point, but I'm just gonna do it myself if you don't—”

“Oi, just give me half a second, will you!” Louis exclaims. He quickly shuffles around on the bed, carefully holding his lotioned hand away from the blankets. He presses up against Harry from behind, his chest to Harry's back, which is quite nice, and then he can wrap his arm around Harry and come at it from a somewhat familiar angle. Harry's sigh when Louis finally puts his hand on his cock is music to Louis' ears. Harry sags back against him, and it's weird at first to be wanking someone else, figuring out a slightly different size and angle, but soon enough he gets a decent rhythm going. Harry keeps letting out little sighs and moans, so he thinks he's doing all right. Still, he's not sure, so he asks, “Is it good?”

“Yes,” Harry moans. “Oh, just, just a little tighter.”

Louis can feel the sweat trapped between their bodies. He squeezes his hand a bit tighter, and Harry nods wordlessly. It only takes a few more strokes, and then Harry's bringing his hands up to catch his come before it splatters across the bedding.

Louis pulls his hand back, sweaty and tacky. Harry tips his head to the side so it leans against Louis' and he sits there, breathing harshly, holding out jizz-covered hands as if in supplication. “So, I think that went well,” he says conversationally, as if his voice isn't shaking.

Louis snorts. “Quite all right, yes, indeed.”

Harry smiles slowly, eyes closed. “We should go wash our hands.”

“I suppose.”

“But I want to cuddle.”

“Well.” Louis shrugs. “We can wash our hands and then cuddle.” He hadn't necessarily been planning to stay for a long cuddle, but he really should have known that Harry would demand snuggles after sex, and he should have known that he'd be powerless to say no.

They wash their hands and take turns using the toilet. When Louis steps out of the bathroom, Harry is already in bed. He reaches his arms out, wiggling his fingers until a giggling Louis slides into his arms. “Yay,” Harry cries, immediately wrapping his arms and legs around Louis.

“Ahh, you're crushing me!” Louis wails dramatically. They struggle for a minute before Harry finally loosens his hold and they relax.

“I should probably go back to my room, you know,” Louis murmurs regretfully.

“I know,” Harry mumbles back. “Just a couple more minutes? Please?”

Louis acquiesces with a small sigh.

The next thing he knows, he's waking up, pressed up against Harry's back with an arm flung around Harry's middle. He supposes he must have fallen asleep. Aside from light spilling in from the sitting room, the room is dark, no hint of daylight at the windows yet. Of course, at this time of year, darkness is no guarantee that the household is still asleep. He needs to get back to his room, and fast.

He tries to move as slowly and carefully as possible, but when he tries to withdraw his arm, Harry immediately clamps down on it with an irritated groan. Louis bites back a sigh and whispers, “Haz, I need to go.”

“Noooo,” Harry moans into his pillow. Louis isn't sure he's even awake.

“I'm not sure what time it is, love, but I really don't want to get caught sneaking out of your room by someone on their way to breakfast.” 

Harry sighs heavily and rolls over. “Okay,” he murmurs, cracking open one eye. “But wait, lemme ask you something first.”

“What?” Louis asks warily.

“Just wanted to check... like, what's going on between us?” Harry has opened his eyes, and he's blinking sleepily up at Louis. “'Cause, like. If you wanted to be, like... boyfriends. I'd be okay with that.”

_Oh, shit._

Louis clears his throat. “Erm, I, I guess I see us as more of a friends with benefits thing? Like, really good friends,” he says.

“Oh,” Harry says in a small voice. He closes his eyes. “I see. Okay.”

Louis hesitates. He wants Harry to understand that he meant _I really care about you but I can't date you,_ not _I just don't like you like that._ He's not at all sure that what he said came across the way he meant it.

But – but it doesn't feel like the time and place to explain, to really get into it. Too much explaining and justifying invites argument. He doesn't want to argue. He doesn't feel great about it, but he's sure. He already knows that it has to be this way.

Instead of explaining, he gives Harry a kiss on the cheek, slips out of bed, puts his shirt back on, and goes back to his room.

 

* * *

 

Harry is disappointed.

Okay, he's hurt and sad _and_ disappointed.

He dozes; by the next time he wakes up, he's mad. _Friends with benefits? Seriously? What the hell?_

The next time he wakes up, he decides that he just doesn't believe that. There's something there between them, and it's not just friendship, and it's not just lust, and it's not just him. There was all that texting, so much texting that he felt bad because of how excessive it was compared to his communications with Gemma. She's his friend, and his sister, and she's genuinely really cool, and still they don't text that much.

Plus, there was that time when Louis showed up outside the X Factor house at 2 AM and convinced Harry to sneak out, all because he wanted to be near Harry, to have more time with him. Harry thinks that Louis wouldn't have made the first move that night, but there's no way that that was a purely platonic thing.

Conclusion: Louis is scared of how he feels, or scared to be in a relationship, or scared of long distance relationships, or he's just in denial of what's between them, or he thinks he'd have to come out to date Harry and he doesn't want to do that, or _something._ There's definitely something that he's not being honest about.

And that's okay. Because he totally (probably, very likely) likes Harry, and Harry will just be so awesome that Louis will come to his senses. He's got three weeks to work with before Louis goes back to Scotland, three works to turn on the charm and make Louis love him.

Thus determined, he can face his birthday with his spirits restored. It's a good day. He and Louis keep sneaking little grins, and Harry thinks, _I see you._ There's a long ramble through the grounds, and there's cake and singing and presents for him, and it's all very sweet and happy.

Louis doesn't come to his room that night. He's waiting for a late enough hour to sneak over to Louis, but then Louis texts him that he's knackered and just wants to turn in early. Fine. That's fine.

As if he has to pay for how nice his birthday was, the next day is awful.

His parents leave. Niall goes, too. Just like that, he's left behind, and he feels the strangeness of his situation afresh. He feels so lonely. He wants to get Louis alone – not for sex, he doesn't care if all Louis does is mock him and stick popcorn in his hair or something equally absurd, he just wants to be near him. He can't find him all day, though, not until dinner, and dinner is when it all comes crashing down with no warning at all.

Anne is talking about a skiing holiday. “Maggie has this lovely home in Switzerland. Have you ever skied, Harry? It's a wonderful pastime. I thought we could all go on a weekend when Gemma and Louis aren't too busy.” 

“Actually.” Louis clears his throat and looks down at plate. “I decided – I'm going to America, erm, in a few days. I've made arrangements to study abroad for the spring semester at the University of Southern California.”

Harry freezes. He feels like his stomach has suddenly dropped into his shoes. Louis' announcement is met with stunned silence at the table. Anne is the first to speak. In a terrifyingly even voice, she says, “I'm surprised this is the first I've heard of it.”

Louis looks at her guiltily. “Well, see, I wasn't sure when you'd actually make the announcement about Harry so – and then it was Christmas... and, well, it doesn't matter, does it? It's really for the best – it gets me out of the public eye, gets me out of town for a while, so to speak, so people can forget about me and focus on Harry.”

Jay presses her lips together. “Louis. We were so looking forward to having you here – getting to be a normal family all together, finally.”

Louis winces. “It's not forever, Mum. Just a term. Then things will have settled down...”

“And getting out of the public eye?” Jay continues. “Isn't this university in Los Angeles? Paparazzi central, isn't it!”

“It's not like that,” Louis cuts in quickly. “There's no paps on the campus, you know, they're banned, and there's so many children of famous people there that there's kind of this code of silence amongst the students and faculty, very respectful of privacy actually.”

Jay frowns sceptically. “It's hard to believe...”

“Remember when Emma Watson was at Brown? There weren't that many pictures of her at school.”

“That's true, actually,” Gemma concedes.

“Well, there aren't paparazzi in the middle of nowhere in New England! Los Angeles is different!” Jay protests.

“I'll get you on the phone with the admissions office if it'll make you feel better, but honestly, it's very private,” Louis says. “I mean, as private as being at any huge university is, I guess.”

“I don't want you going away, not now.”

“Mum, it's all arranged already. It's a done deal.”

Harry lets the heated discussion wash over him and mechanically takes a bite of his peas. They stick in his throat. He wouldn't mind if he choked on them, but they go down eventually. He wants to get up and run and not come back to this horrible table. He wants to scream at Louis and throw bread rolls at his stupid deceitful face. But of course he has no right to do any of that. He's not Louis' boyfriend – Louis made that abundantly clear, after all, and apparently Harry was just fooling himself to think that he could be. He's just the upstart newcomer to the family and it's hardly his place to care what Louis does. So instead of running through the halls and slamming doors, he slowly, silently, reluctantly chews another spoonful of peas, another forkful of roast.

By the time the staff start clearing plates, he's eaten just enough to plausibly claim to have had enough and let them take the rest away. “Are you all right, love? You haven't even finished half your plate.” Jay asks him suddenly. Harry realises he has no idea where the conversation has gone in the last few minutes.

“Yeah, I'm fine. A bit tired. I might skip dessert and lay down for a bit and come join you all after dinner. Would you mind?” He turns to Anne, addressing the question to her.

“Of course not, dear,” Anne frowns. “Shall I ask the physician to look in on you?”

“No, thank you,” Harry says quickly, and musters up a smile. “Just need to lay down for a few minutes and then I'll be right as rain.” He hurries away from the table, never once looking at Louis.

He manages to keep it together on the walk back to his rooms, a walk that has never felt so long as it does right now. He closes the door quietly behind him, and takes in a deep breath. Two breaths, three. He walks aimlessly through the overly-large bedroom and, after a time, finds himself sinking down in the dark corner between his bed and the wall, leant up against a nightstand. He plucks a pillow from the bed without looking and presses it to his midsection, curls up around it and presses his face into it, and tries not to cry. His chest burns, his eyes burn, his throat burns, it _hurts._

Louis is leaving him. Didn't even bother to tell him separately – just dropped that on him at the table with everyone else. Because he's no more special to Louis than anyone else there. Less, probably, almost certainly. He takes a long, gasping breath and tries not to sob. He's not family, he's just a boy Louis' known for a few weeks and had a bit of fun with. He rubs his face against the pillow to clear the hot tears from the corners of his eyes. Louis must have known that he's leaving for weeks – probably since before the first time the two of them kissed, even. He let that happen knowing that it could never amount to anything because he was _leaving._

There's a knock on the goddamn door.

Harry tips his head back and tries to breathe evenly. Long breaths, in, out. When the knock comes again, he thinks he can speak normally. “Who is it?” he calls.

“It's me,” Louis says, muffled.

“Go away,” Harry yells, dropping the pillow and walking towards the door.

“Harry, please, let me explain, just give me a minute,” Louis pleads.

Harry wrenches the door open and glares at him with eyes that are probably already puffy and red.  “You've apparently been keeping this from me for weeks, so w-why do you want to talk now?” His breath hitches, _dammit._

“Can I come in? Please?” Louis looks furtively behind him.

Harry snorts and takes a step back, crossing his arms over his chest. “Whatever.”

“Look, I didn't mean to... keep something from you,” Louis says carefully, stepping in and shutting the door behind him. “I did mean to tell you privately, but it just came up, I had to tell everyone sometime—” He steps closer, arms coming up like he's going to put his hands on Harry.

Harry flinches back and snaps, “Don't touch me.”

“Harry—” Louis reaches out.

Harry actually swats his hand away. It's childish, but it feels satisfying. “I said don't _touch_ me. Just say whatever it is you came here to say.”

Louis' hands flutter, birds looking for a safe place to land but finding none. “Harry, you're—you've been really lovely, you're so beautiful and wonderful, I really do care about you—”

Harry does hiccup out a little sob at that, and bites down quickly on his hand. Louis looks pained, but continues, “I didn't mean to hurt you, but I have to get away, don't you see? I can still be your friend, I want to be, I can still be there for you. But this is my chance to be free, and just be Louis Tomlinson. If I tried to—erm—stay here for you—which is crazy at this point anyway, I mean we hardly know each other, well, not enough for that kind of commitment anyway—but if I did, I'd just be part of the royal life, you know, not in the same way but ultimately I'd just be stuck with the same rules, I'd be inside the gilded cage with you, and I'd never get out, and this is my only way out, if I go now, don't you see that?” Louis' frantic, tripping over his words, his eyes pleading desperately with Harry to understand.

“Are you done?” Harry says tremulously, scrubbing at the tears running down his face.

“Haz,” Louis pleads, looking at him so sadly.

“Was that what you wanted to say?” Harry asks.

Louis' hands twist around each other. “Yeah. I just want you to understand—”

“If you want out so badly—” Harry gasps shakily. “You want to get away from me, fine, go.” He steps around Louis, staying beyond arm's length, and wrenches open the door. “Get out.” He crosses his arms and glares at Louis as best as he can with tears pouring down his face until Louis walks out into the hallway, staring back at him looking so hurt and sad until Harry slams the door in his face.

Harry grabs a box of tissues and flings himself onto the bed to cry in earnest. He doesn't come back down to join the family after dessert.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I should clarify that I'm aware that Brown University isn't in the middle of nowhere, lol. The character who makes that comment isn't, though.


	15. Chapter 15 / Part II

Louis drifts slowly through the empty hallways of his residence hall. With the only noise coming from his soft footsteps and the hum of the lights overhead, it's eerily quiet. There's no music blasting from behind closed doors, no one talking, singing, laughing, or crying. The smells of burnt popcorn and skunk weed have all been processed away by the diligent air conditioning.

He's probably the last one in here, aside from the resident advisors who are sweeping the building for miscreants like himself. He's betting he won't get in real trouble if they catch him. All of his things have already been moved out and he's not causing any trouble. He just wants to walk through the halls one last time.

It's unsettling how quickly the community that developed over the semester has vanished. The students have scattered, back to homes all over California, all over the US, all over the world. The people he spent so much time with these last few months are gone, and he'll likely not see most of them ever again.

He makes his way down through one of the lesser-used stairwells and manages to sneak out a door without encountering anyone else. He's free and alone in the California sunshine.

The entire campus is bizarrely lifeless as he makes his way down the paths underneath gently waving palm trees and hot sun. The movers told him they'd be done by early afternoon at the flat he's sub-letting for the summer. With some time to kill, he drives to one of his favourite streets nearby, buying a coffee and browsing through shops.

The sense of anonymity still gives him a thrill. In a sleeveless shirt, baggy shorts, and big sunglasses, his style is very unlike that of Prince Louis, but he's still fairly recognisable. No one stops him, though. He catches a few curious looks, and one girl takes a surreptitious photo, but no one outright stops to stare, and no one says a thing to him besides, “Here's your mocha frappuccino, sir,” and, “Can I help you find anything?”

It's amazing how completely normal Los Angeles allows him to be most of the time.  He's been papped a few times, but these days whatever picture gets taken rarely even makes it online. People seem to be losing interest in him, which was, of course, the goal.

He sometimes worries that _everyone_ is losing interest in him. His family doesn't call or text him as much as they used to. It's probably his fault – he'd let too many calls go to voicemail while he was out making new friends, joining university clubs, going to beaches, learning to surf, sneaking into nightclubs, and roaming around Los Angeles. He always meant to call back but he so rarely managed it. He feels such an urgency to get everything he could out of LA while he had the chance. He'll have to rest of his life to talk to his family.

He's been in LA for nearly five months, and he thinks he's done a good job at taking it all in. He's gone to the beach nearly every weekend, rolling down the freeway in a leased car full of rowdy Americans. He's hit all the sights, visited the big museums, been to all sorts of shows at all sorts of venues.

The loads of friends he made over the term are all gone, though. A handful are southern California natives, but he won't be seeing them unless he takes it on himself to drive out to their boring suburbs.

He feels piercingly lonely, suddenly, alone and anonymous in some boutique. In that moment, he just wants to go home, and he isn't even sure which home he truly wants. England and his family are out of reach, since he signed up for summer classes, but at least there's a sunny apartment in Echo Park waiting for him.

The next morning, he basks in a sunbeam in his bright, modern flat and checks in on Tumblr. He'd learned long ago that that was where the most die-hard, creepy, investigative fans were. Keeping tabs on his own fans was never very appealing. However, these days Harry won't talk to him, and he can't be constantly begging Gemma and Anne to report on Harry, so he's joined the ranks of Tumblr stalkers. He feels like he at least has the right to know what everyone _else_ knows about Harry.

There's nothing new on Harry today, which isn't a surprise. Harry doesn't seem to go out much. There are, however, posts going around about himself.

“LOUIS TOMLINSON SPOTTED MOVING INTO POSH LA FLAT,” a headline screams. “IS HE STAYING IN AMERICA FOR GOOD?” It's the bloody Sun, of course. The article is accompanied by a photo of Louis walking into the building, and one of him shaking hands with the movers before they got into their truck. He hadn't even noticed the pap. Shit.

He reblogs the post with some quick commentary: _“Has the Sun never heard of summer classes and internships? Ridiculous. Of course Louis hasn't moved to LA permanently.”_ He's never been good at holding his tongue. In this little world, though, he's earned a reputation as someone snarky but insightful and almost invariably correct, so he hopes that he can at least calm a few people's hysteria.

For just a minute, he allows himself to sit back in his chair, stare at the walls of his sun-drenched one-bedroom flat, and sigh heavily. Then he pulls himself up and continues on with his morning, because he actually does have to get to the first day of his theatre internship.

 

* * *

 

“You want to go on a chat show?” Anne asks incredulously.

“Yeah,” Harry says. He looks down at his plate, bashful, but then he steels himself to look her in the eye. “Remember how I told you that Liam got signed? They're releasing a single – his album's not coming out for months still but they're trying to keep buzz going, and he's going to perform it on the Graham Norton show. You know how he always has a bunch of guests at once, so if I'm on the show too, probably a lot more people will watch. I really want to do it, as a favour to Liam. Because I messed up the band, so if I can help him now... You know what I mean? So. It's important to me.”

Anne takes in a deep breath and slowly releases it. “None of us have ever gone on a chat show before. When we talk to the media, we make them come to us.”

“This is different, though,” Harry pleads. “It's not really about me. And what's the harm?”

“Come on, Mum, it's for his friend,” Gemma interjects. “And people will absolutely love it. Norton's show is usually quite funny and he'll be respectful enough.”

Anne sighs and throws up her hand. “This is one of those generational things, isn't it. All right, fine. Talk to PR about it. Get them to negotiate for you on blacklisted topics. Make sure they don't make you get there early and wait around for ages. They've got to treat you properly.”

“That means you make them bend over backwards in order for you to grace them with your presence,” Gemma grins.

“Gemma,” Anne scolds while Harry snickers. “It's not a laughing matter, Harry. We have to be thinking about our role and our image all the time. And your applications right now are crucial to deciding where you'll study next year. You can't let this take up a minute more of your time than is necessary.”

“Jeez, Mum, he can't be revising every second of the day!” Gemma says.

“It's okay, Gemma,” Harry cuts in quickly before the two of them can start fighting. “I get it. It'll be a couple hours at most, it won't mess up my studies. I promise.”

 

* * *

 

Harry feels a thrill course through him the moment he gets behind the wheel of his car, like he's getting away with something. There are no tutors tonight, no books. He's getting out of the palace and he's not just going to shake hands with ambassadors or politely watch a new hospital ward be opened.

He gets to the studio just in time to allow them to pat powder on his face and spritz his hair with some product before he's ushered off to a green room, where he finds Liam pacing nervously and doing vocal exercises.

“Harry!” he exclaims, sweeping Harry up into a crushing hug. “I can't believe I really talked you into it.”

“Hell yes,” Harry says, pulling back to grin at Liam. “I'm so happy for you, man. Of course. I can't wait to hear the song.”

“It's so weird performing alone again. Sure you don't want to duet with me?”

They end up building an elaborate structure out of cups and bottles, mostly because Harry hopes it will distract Liam. Liam's never really had a problem with nerves the way Harry has, and he's been performing solo for years, but he seems twitchy tonight. It _is_ his first solo televised performance aside from the X Factor auditions.

Cup Tower has just collapsed when an aide pokes her head into the room to fetch them. Harry winces when her eyes fall on the mess they've made. “We'll clean that up after,” he says weakly.

“Don't worry about it, sir,” the woman says impassively. “You're on in two minutes, so if you would please follow me?”

The other guest that day is Mila Kunis, promoting her latest film. It seems like a bizarre match-up, but she's a delight, beautiful and witty. The four of them banter smoothly, and it's easy and fun.

“So let's be honest here, people really only put up with me when they have to, to promote something,” Graham Norton says. “So what's so worth promoting that we actually got a royal family member into our studio?”

Harry grins, throwing an arm around Liam's shoulder and pinching his cheek. “This lad!”

“Oh, come on, that's sickening.”

Liam laughs. “Well, he's taking exams soon, so I reckon he could be promoting education.”

Thank God, no one presses him on that too much. He gets to complain for a moment about the pains of revising and Graham lobs him a few softball questions about his adjustment to royal life. Harry shares a few small prepared anecdotes that he knows will delight viewers without actually revealing much at all. Then, thankfully, they move on to the much more interesting projects of Liam and Mila. 

It's all fine until they hit the question that Harry hated the most during the X Factor days.

“So, Liam.” Graham leans forward, conspiratorially. “You know we've got loads of girls watching who will harass me forever if I don't ask. You're single, right?”

“I am, yes.” Liam smiles charmingly.

“So, what would a young lady need to do to catch your eye?”

Harry sits with a fixed smile and lets Liam's vague answer wash over him. His team had told Graham's in no uncertain terms that this question was off limits for Harry, but he's still uncomfortable.

Liam finishes answering, and Graham seems to be about to change the subject, but then Mila interjects, “Wait, you're not going to ask Harry too?”

Graham starts laughing as Mila continues, “Because, sorry, but I have nieces on my husband's side, and they love pranks, so, like, they are _coming_ for me if I don't ask.”

“Now, now, let's—” Graham starts, but Mila turns decisively to Harry and asks, “So keeping in mind that 'related to Mila Kunis' would be the ideal answer – what do _you_ look for in a girl?”  

Harry stares at her, feeling somehow betrayed, and blurts, “I don't.”

She raises her eyebrows. Graham smoothly cuts in, “No point when you're locked up in your tower with your books, is there?”

Harry hesitates. The thought shoots through his mind, that he could just say _I don't like girls_ right here, right now, and be done with it. But, no. It doesn't feel satisfying or fair to anyone. Instead, he plays along and drawls, “I'd have to grow out my hair, like Rapunzel,” to which everyone laughs and moves on.  

The moment lingers with him over the next few days, though. Coming out hasn't been on his mind much because he's mainly stayed out of the public eye. Being on that show abruptly reminded him how much it rankles to be constantly assumed to be straight.

He tells Gemma first, a week after the show's taping. “I want to come out,” he says, laying on her floor and idly kicking the side of her bed.

She looks down at him over the top of the magazine she's reading. “Oh, yeah? Cool.”

“Yeah. Once I'm done with my entrance exams and applications, I guess.”

She nods, turning a page. “Seems sensible. How'll you do it?”

“Hmm.” He stretches. “I haven't figured that part out yet. What d'you think?”

 

* * *

 

When his phone rings at 5 AM on a Wednesday, Louis' first thought is that he's going to kill someone.

When he groggily rolls over and sees Gemma's name on the screen, his next thought is that someone's died.

“What is it?” he demands once he's accepted the call, voice tinged with panic.

“Whatever you're thinking, it's definitely not that bad.”

“So no one's dead?”

“Nope. Calm down.”

Louis sags back against his pillow. “Thank God. Why're you calling me at this hour then, though?”

“Harry's coming out today,” she says gleefully.

“What? Oh my god, when, how?”

“He did a little interview; it's going to go up on YouTube and stuff. It goes live in about half an hour.”

“You're there with him?”

“Yeah, we've got the family here, we'll be with him when the reactions start coming in.”

“Good.” He blows out a long breath. “Wow.”

“I should go back in there but I thought you'd want to know.”

“Yeah, yeah, absolutely. Thanks, Gems.”

He sits for a long minute before dragging himself out of bed to make some tea and get his laptop. He's all set up when the video hits.

He sees Harry walk into an elegant room with cream-coloured walls, and knows that it's in Buckingham Palace. Harry's hair is a bit longer than the last time Louis saw him, and he's wearing a crisp, perfectly-tailored blue suit. He look beautiful and happy, and it makes something in Louis' chest hurt, but he can't look away.  

He sits down across from James Corden, his round face cheerful as always. That's certainly an unorthodox choice, and he'd bet money that Harry had made that decision. He's going to get a reputation for having a thing for chat-show hosts.

They make small talk for a minute or two, friendly and familiar, but it doesn't take long to get to the meat of the interview. There's Harry, telling the world that he's gay, smiling, so calm, so easy.

“What does this mean for the royal family?”

“I know that some people out there won't be thrilled,” Harry says dryly. “But I do think we, as a society, I mean, are at a point where people can accept me. My family support me and ultimately I don't think, well, I hope... I don't expect this to cause real trouble for any of them. You know, luckily Gemma's the oldest, so any succession questions about me will be moot, I hope.”

The rest of the conversation is very polite. Louis thinks it's all a bit superficial, but that is how they tend to do things. He still watches the video again, and then again. He's sweating and nervous when he logs on to Tumblr to see how Harry's fans are reacting. It's not bad, though. A few girls are typing hysterical all-caps posts about how gutted they are that they'll never marry Harry, but most of the fans seem supportive. Many of them aren't shocked – there have been gay rumours about Harry for a long time, as he was fairly open about his sexuality during the X Factor. Of course they hid that as best as they could with editing on the actual show, but people talk.

He doesn't even open Twitter. He has an account there now that he posts on occasionally. At the right time it's good for a laugh, but at the wrong time it's good for seeing a thousand messages calling someone a fag.

The gossip sites slap up articles immediately, but they're little more than summaries of the video. Louis feels so anxious, but he can't just sit around his flat all morning reading shitty comments on internet articles. He goes and works out instead, the gym blessedly quiet at such an ungodly hour of the day,  and gets to his first class of the day early.

He soon wishes he hadn't. It seems like everyone walks in talking excitedly about Harry until they see him, and then they stop talking awkwardly. _None of you are going to make it as actors if you're going to be that stupid and obvious,_ he thinks viciously.

At least no one tries to talk to him about it. How he feels right now is for _him._ He doesn't want to share with these near-strangers, people who don't know him, people who he can't trust not to sell his words to some tabloid.

He goes straight home after classes, any plans for the evening forgotten. He needs to know what's being said. He'd had to turn off his phone during the day and he'd still spent half the class hours worrying, wondering, imagining what the reaction at home was like. Alone at home, many hours having elapsed since Harry's announcement, Louis can finally crack open a beer, put on some music, and get down to it.

Newspapers have already managed to put out dozens of pieces musing about what the coming out means for the royal family and its future. Some simply lay out the facts – the legality of same-sex marriage, the circumstances under which a child can or cannot inherit a title, public acceptance of homosexuality. Then there are the opinion articles, which are somewhat predictable. Harry's brave to come out; he'll inspire LGBT+ youth across the country and make life safer for them. He's selfish to come out, and he's damaging the royal family's credibility – couldn't he publicly just be a bachelor forever, like they did in the old days? The future of the royal family is solid because the line of succession is clear. The future of the royal family is in jeopardy because the line of succession could be called into question later.

He finds articles about the public support, the millions of people who have tweeted in support of Harry. They seem to greatly outnumber those who are calling him disgusting or immoral or a sinner. He opens up Tumblr, and it's turned into a beautiful love-fest. He smiles at the pages of happy all-caps screaming and endless edits of Harry and rainbows.

Then he hits the tweet, hits it like walking into a pole when you're not paying attention to where you're going.

_**Jason Wellingham @jlwellh**  
Should've kept Prince Louis @Louis_Tomlinson he was a fake but at least we wouldn't have a poof in the palace _

The tweet itself is offensive and unpleasant, obviously, and the fact that this arsehole tagged Louis in it is obnoxious. The part that makes Louis see red, though, is the retweet count: over 100,000. The arsehole barely has 10,000 followers, so apparently this rubbish has gone viral.

He wasn't planning on coming out today, or any time specifically, but this doesn't feel like something that he can let slide. He's not sitting back and letting some obscure UKIP-supporting reality TV star use him to attack Harry.

He types, quick and angry. He's just about to hit the button to send it out when he feels a habitual sting of conscience, a sense that he should check in with someone, that he ought to be letting one of the PR people look over this.

Louis takes a deep breath. He's not calling up the palace to get their permission, but he might be wise to get a second opinion. He's sent out his share of idiotic, spontaneous tweets this year, just because he could, but he can spare a few minutes to call someone and try not to completely screw this up.

He scrolls through his contacts list three times before deciding on Chrissie. He'd met her at USC's LGBT club. She was the first person in America that he officially came out to, not counting going to that club meeting as a de facto coming out on its own. She's a bit meek; she was always worriedly telling him to _get down off that wall before you hurt yourself,_ or _you can't skateboard inside the building._ She's sweet, though, and kind. Also, she's a communications major. Louis still isn't entirely clear on what that means but he figures it makes her qualified.

She sounds a little confused when she answers the call. “Louis? Hey, what's up?”

“I'm gonna come out on Twitter. Would you tell me what you think of this tweet?”

“Wow! Um, sure, I guess? Why Twitter?”

“Some arsehole said something shitty and I want to put him in his place.”

“Dude, you know Twitter is like 90% assholes saying something shitty, right?”

“Yes, of course I know that, I didn't just discover the internet today. Okay, let me explain first...”

He tells her about the tweet, and reads her what he's written. She tells him he's ridiculous, but sounds fond and amused. “I think what you wrote sounds fine. Why did you even call me? I mean not that I mind, this is really cool, but you've got this, is what I mean.”

“I need someone to tell me that I shouldn't start off with something like, 'fuck off and die, bigot,' or, 'go eat a bag of dicks.'”

“Oh my god, don't do that.”

“But I want to,” Louis whines. “I want to so bad. He deserves it.”

“Yeah, but... it's going to go over better as a statement. Like, what you have now, it comes across as, like, sharp but concise. You're not starting a fight, you're just... shutting down a hater and clearing up a misconception. If you start a fight then you just look like a jerk flying off the handle on some random guy on the internet.”

“Yeah.” Louis sighs heavily. “Thanks, Chrissie.”

“Of course. Are you okay? Do you want me to stay on the line? I can talk as long as you need to.” 

“No, I'm okay. I'll just send it and then, like, clean my flat or something.”

“Right...” She sounds sceptical.

Louis laughs.

“Call me if you need anything, okay?” she says insistently.

“Yeah, of course. Thanks again, Chrissie. Bye.”

He hangs up and sends out the tweet.

**_Louis Tomlinson @Louis_Tomlinson_ **  
_Nope, you still would. @jlwellh_

He screenshots the exchange and posts it to his Tumblr, because what the hell. It's meant to be seen.

Then, trying not to think much at all, he throws some shoes and clothes and his toothbrush into a backpack, grabs his laptop, goes down to his car, and starts driving.

He has to stop in Ventura for gas. While he's parked, he checks in on Tumblr and his secret pseudonymous Twitter, the one he uses to follow his internet friends. One of them has tweeted, _Did @Louis_Tomlinson just come out?!!!_

Louis likes her a lot. She makes good gifs, she often has amusing commentary, and she's never said anything genuinely mean about someone that Louis likes. He decides that he's going to make her day. Switching back over to his @Louis_Tomlinson account, he replies to her tweet with a simple, _Yes._ Then he gets back in the car and keeps driving.

He gets to Highway 1 eventually, and a long stretch of lonely darkness. By the time he hits a town that actually looks to have some real hotels, it's well past midnight and he's exhausted. He's never heard of Cambria before but he obediently follows the signs until he reaches a little stretch of hotels and inns along a moonlit beach. He pulls in to the first one he sees. The lobby looks nice enough, small and neat; there's a white-haired woman asleep in a chair at the front desk.

He stares at her for a long moment. Finally, he clears his throat and says, “Excuse me?”

She starts slightly, and her eyes open. A light sleeper, he notes with relief. “Oh! Must've dozed off. Yes, how can I help you, young man?”

“Sorry, I know it's awfully late, but I wondered if you had any rooms?”

“Oh, what a lovely accent. I think we have a couple, yes. Let me check.” She slides her chair over to a computer and types slowly. “Ah, yes, we do have one. It's $240 for the night.”

“Sure, fine.” It's absurd, actually, for him to spend that much for this random place in some random town, but he's definitely too tired to go door-to-door and see what kind of deal he can get.

“Here to see the castle?” she asks conversationally as she runs his credit card.

“Castle?”

“Hearst Castle. It's just up the road.”

“Oh, right. Yeah, of course,” Louis agrees, as if he has any idea what she's talking about.

“If you only have time for one, do the Grand Rooms Tour,” she advises. “But you should do them all if you can.”

“Great, thanks,” he says dully, taking his card back.

He barely manages to take his shoes off before he falls asleep in the room.

 

* * *

 

“Did you see Louis' tweet?”

Harry looks up at Gemma. “You took my phone away so that I'd stop looking at the news, so, obviously not.”

“Oh, yeah.” She taps on her phone for a few seconds before handing it over. “Look.”

The first tweet on the screen makes Harry feel sick, someone calling him a “poof” and saying they wish Louis were still the prince. But underneath that – he gasps, because there's Louis replying to it, outing himself so that he can tell the other tweeter that he's wrong.

“Oh,” he murmurs, staring at the screen. “He... oh.”

“He posted this hours ago when we were asleep,” Gemma says, looking sad. “I was going to call him when I got up, but it was so late over there. It's morning in California now, so I'm going to give him a ring.”

“Okay.” She doesn't say anything, or move. Harry frowns. “What're you looking at me like that for?”

“Don't you want to call him with me?”

He frowns more deeply. “No.”

“Seriously?” She sighs. “From where I'm sitting, it looks like he came out to take the heat off you. Did you see how many retweets that first tweet got? A lot of people agreed with that dick, and he took that argument away from them. I don't see how that helps him, but I sure see how it helps you.”

Harry squirms. “It was nice,” he admits grudgingly, “but I still don't want to talk to him.”

“You're so melodramatic sometimes.” She starts dialing Louis. Harry scowls and walks away, but only to the other side of the room. Gemma rolls her eyes and puts the phone on speaker.

Louis answers and mumbles, “Good morning. Er, I mean...”

“Yeah, yeah,” Gemma interrupts. “Why didn't you call me when you sent that tweet?”

“It was the middle of the night for you.”

“Yeah, and I would've picked up anyway, idiot. You okay?”

“Yeah, I'm good.” He yawns. “I'm going to Hearst Castle today.”

“Oh, brilliant! I've heard it's spectacular.” 

“You've heard of it? Okay, so it's a real thing and not like a shack on the beach or something?”

Gemma frowns. “How are you going to Hearst Castle and you don't even know what it is?”

“I didn't want to sit around watching people tweet shit at me so I just started driving and I ended up in this little town, and they told me that everyone comes there to see Hearst Castle, so.”

“You should've called,” Gemma says again, softly.

“Didn't need to,” Louis says. “I'm good, really. It's a bit exciting to be out actually. I think I'm happy. Erm, how's Harry?”

Gemma hesitates, shooting a glance at Harry, but he shakes his head and stays where he is. Gemma frowns at him, but says, “He's good, yeah. Happy to have finally done it. The reaction's been all right.”

“Yeah, I saw.”

“It was really cool of you to jump in like that. Gives them something else to talk about now.”

Louis laughs. “I'm definitely a much smaller story these days, but, good, I hoped... I just didn't like seeing people talk like that. I mean, what an idiotic thing to say, anyway.”

“I know, like we were going to be like, ugh, bring back Louis, he's not actually related to us but at least he's not gay? What problem would that solve?”

“So stupid!”

Gemma giggles. “Well, shall I let you get on with your day?”

“Yeah, I suppose. I'll have to drive back to LA tonight so I should get going if I'm going to see this castle.”

“All right. Have fun! Take pictures for me!”

She hangs up and looks over at Harry. “I want to yell at you, but on the other hand, I don't really feel like it, because actually I have something good to tell you.”

“Okay?”

“You don't have any plans tomorrow, right?”

Harry shrugs. “Hiding out in the palace and dodging Mum's questions about where I'm going to school I think is the extent of it.”

Gemma grins. “Cool, because we're going to Thailand.”

Harry blinks. “Uh, what?”

“You've only gotten the worst parts of being part of this family so far,” she says. “Media scrutiny and loads of work. You, little brother, need to experience the perks. First class flights, fine hotels, the best restaurants, famous people lining up to meet you like you're someone special and not just another student, the whole lot.”

Harry smiles tentatively. “Why Thailand?”

“Great beaches and great food, first of all. Fairly cheap, which means we can really splash out. Lovely people. Pretty safe, especially where we're going. Gay-friendly, so if anyone knows about you they won't make a fuss. Also, they don't really care about us there.” Harry laughs, and so does Gemma, but she continues, “No, seriously. You know, like, travelling in the U.S. can be hard because so many of them know who we are and they get all excited and weird, but the Thais, they're not that excited about us but they also don't have any grudge against us.”

“I... guess that makes sense?”

“Yeah, it's great. So, go pack, we're leaving tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?! Gems, I don't have clothes for the tropics!”

She rolls her eyes. “So we go shopping when we get there, oh no, what a tragedy. I'll e-mail you an itinerary. Now hop to it.”

 

* * *

 

The trip is incredible.

It's incredible from the moment he steps onto the plane and is escorted to an absurdly spacious seat. “Is this first class?” he squeaks excitedly.

“Oh, honey, this is just business class,” Gemma laughs. “Wow, we really haven't been treating you right. No, this was a bit last-minute so I wasn't able to get us first class the whole way.”

He maybe gets a little drunk. He doesn't mean to; they just keep offering him drinks and he feels like he's supposed to take them. The seat is huge and it turns into a bed. He manages to sleep for half the flight so it doesn't feel terribly long. He does wake up with a bit of a headache, which makes Gemma laugh at him.

After a hectic two days in Bangkok, they spend a few days sweating their way through floating markets, beautiful temples, and crumbling but grand historical sites. After winding their way north to Ayutthaya and Sukhothai, they catch a flight south to Koh Samui, sight-see there for a few hours, then travel by ferry on to Koh Tao.

A few days later, they're sprawled on the beach, sipping on Thai iced tea. “Don't you feel so perfectly relaxed?” Gemma sighs happily.

Despite the yoga and the massage, he doesn't, really. “I don't want to go to boarding school.”

“Well, that's a change of subject.” Gemma looks over at him, frowning. “You want to just keep being tutored at home for another year?”

“Oh, God, no. I just... want to go to a normal school. Like a normal person. Or go to uni like I should be doing by now.”

“Well, good luck with that since you're out on this beach here and not taking your A-levels. And it's not like being at boarding school makes you abnormal,” Gemma says archly. “Loads of pretty normal people go away to school.”

Harry winces. “I didn't mean it like that.”

“And you can't be a normal person again. Sorry. That ship has kind of sailed.”

“Wow, okay, give it to me straight, why don't you.” Harry slumps down in his seat, pouting.

“Well, it's the truth.” She reaches out and squeezes his arm. “Sorry. I'll try to bite my tongue for a minute. Talk to me. Seriously.”

Harry sighs and says reluctantly, “You're right, I guess. It's too late to change course now. But Mum talks about me going to Eton as if that's already decided, and if I've got to go to boarding school, Jesus, not there. I mean, it's nice that it's so close to London. But...”

“But?”

“Ugh. It's just... it's so weird. I don't want to go to a boys-only school.”

“Why not? Isn't that kind of ideal for you?” Gemma smirks.

“Hey, come on. I don't fancy the girls but I still want them around. It's... weird, otherwise. I don't know.” He clutches his hair. “I don't know how to explain it, it just bugs me.”

Gemma hums thoughtfully. “Want to know what I really think?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“I hate listening to people telling you that you've got to go to Eton because that's where all the future leaders of England are, and maybe you'll be friends with a lad who'll be prime minister someday, and all that. They tell you this in front of the Queen and the Princess of Wales, like they don't even see how wrong it is that the leaders-of-our-country factory excludes women. I mean not that it's truly where our leaders come from, not even most of them, but still. It pisses me off to hear someone say, say go there and make connections, like the only people you need to bother to make connections with are blokes.”

Harry sits up and looks at her in amazement. “Yes. Yes! Exactly! I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but, yeah.”

Gemma smiles. “So don't go to Eton. You did apply other places, right?”

“Yeah, of course. But Mum's so set on Eton.”

“So what? There's other schools nearly as good as Eton. You know, Uncle William went to Harrow. Granddad and his brother went to Gordonstoun. So you'd have family precedent on your side if you like either of those. You know how much tradition matters in this family.”

“Gordonstoun is co-ed now,” Harry muses. “But God is it far away from everything.”

“Well. You'd be close to Louis, anyway, if you ever talk to him again and if he actually comes back. And far from, like, paparazzi and stuff. For us, being in the middle of nowhere can be a real blessing.” She shrugs. “Benenden was far from anything worthwhile, and, well, it was frustrating sometimes, but mostly, we didn't have the time to leave campus and do anything anyway, so it wasn't that bad.”

“Is that supposed to be encouraging?”

“Kind of. It's just the way it is.”

Harry sighs. “There must be some good international schools in Thailand. How about I just stay here? I'll study, like, snorkelling and eating really spicy food.”

“We'll have to look into that,” Gemma says, and she manages to look and sound serious for several whole seconds before she breaks down laughing.

 

* * *

 

Louis feels restless as the summer passes. He longs for home even as he feels himself already pre-emptively missing California. He ends up so morose that he impulsively accepts an invitation to a celebrity party.

Ever since he arrived in LA, he's received a small but steady trickle of invitations: movie premieres, record label parties, clubs, house parties, pool parties, the works. The only thing they have in common is that he doesn't personally know whoever sent the invitation. He supposes that he might encounter someone he knows at one of the parties – he has met his share of celebrities – but the chance seems slim. Mostly, it seems that someone just wants the cachet of being able to say that they rubbed elbows with Louis Tomlinson, deposed fake prince. He's been much more focused on learning what it's like to be Louis Tomlinson, somewhat-normal bloke, and so most of the invitations have ended up in the bin.

The one he does finally accept is almost entirely arbitrary, chosen only because it showed up when he was in the right mood. It's at an estate in Malibu on a grand spread of lawn with fairy lights twinkling overhead. He doesn't even know whose home he's at, or what the point of the party really is. It doesn't seem to matter. There are people to talk to, free-flowing drinks, and a dance floor with thumping music where he can shake his ass. He recognises a few actors from telly who all seem delighted to get a handshake from him, and he spends a few pleasant minutes catching up with Eddie Redmayne.

Eddie soon gets pulled away, and Louis takes the opportunity to hit the bar again. It's a black semi-circle, backed up against the house, and it's completely surrounded by a dense crowd. It takes ages to make his way to the front. He's nearly there when he hears a familiar voice, and he turns toward it before he even consciously registers who it is.

It's Liam Payne. Louis blanches and quickly turns back toward the bar. Shit. Did he see me?

He knows how this works. Harry hates Louis. Liam is Harry's friend. Ergo, Liam hates Louis.

He needs to get out of here.

He tries to slip off to the side, but a girl with cascading honey-coloured curls elbows him sharply in the ribs. “Ow! Hey, I'm just trying to—”

His hesitation as he catches his breath is all it takes. He feels a strong hand clap down onto his shoulder, and a voice booms, “Louis!”

Louis braces himself and turns with what he hopes is a placating smile. “Liam, heyyyy.”

“Oh my gosh! I can't believe you're at the same party as me! It's so good to see you!”

Liam hugs him quickly. He smells of sugar and liquor, and Louis realises that Liam is a bit tipsy. Nonetheless, he seems actually, genuinely happy to see Louis. Bizarre.

Louis catches the bartender moving out of the corner of his eye and he calls out, “Two Coronas!” The bottles are opened and slid over to him in a flash. Louis quickly presses one into Liam's hand and guides him out of the crowd.

“Thanks, mate,” Liam says once they're clear, raising the bottle to Louis in a toast. “Quick thinking. Seriously, wow, I never expected to see you here. It's been ages. How are you?”

Louis is feeling absolutely baffled. They've only met twice, but Liam is talking to him as if they're old friends. The only thing Louis can think to do is to go along with it. “All right, yeah. I've been studying abroad at a university here. The summer term's finishing up in a few weeks and then I go back home.”

“Oh, cool. How've you liked it?”

Liam seems totally focused on him, so earnest in his question. Louis answers, “It's been really great, yeah. I've been taking acting classes and interning at a theatre. I love it. Erm, yeah, so what're you doing in LA?”

“I'm working with a producer here,” Liam explains. “Worked with him on my first single and that's done really well, like way better than I expected, so we're doing a few more songs now. It's weird being away from home but, you know, it's amazing. I still can't believe sometimes that I managed to get a record deal after everything that happened, you know?”

“That's so great, man.”

Liam beams and gushes, “Everyone's just been so supportive. Niall's been tweeting about it a lot and stuff. And Harry came on Graham Norton with me!”

Louis clears his throat. “Yeah, I saw that.”

“It was so cool. His mum didn't want him to but he convinced her. Amazing lad.”

“Well. I suppose he feels he owes you one since it didn't work out with the band.”

“I know.” Liam shakes his head. “Poor Harry, I mean I'm so glad he came on the show with me but I wish he would stop beating himself up over the X Factor, I mean it really wasn't his fault, but he's so worried about, like, doing his duty and stuff. How's he doing these days?”

Louis frowns slightly. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, just, I've been super busy so I haven't talked to him in a while, but probably you have?”

“Er, no, I've been busy, too.”

“Oh.” Liam looks disappointed. “Hey, mate, my agent's waving at me so I should probably go check in with her. But, like, it's cool to see someone from back home. Here, give me your number. Let's hang out sometime.”

He doesn't see Liam again for the rest of the party, but he gets a text from him the next day. He's honestly shocked. Apparently, Liam actually wants to keep in touch.

A few days later, Liam suggests they meet up to watch some footie together. Thanks to the time difference, this means they end up in a sticky faux-British pub well before noon, armed with pints of bitter in a small crowd of expats. It's not long before they're slinging their arms around each other's shoulders and howling at the telly together, taking turns buying rounds, and they spend another two hours shooting the shit after the game before they head to their homes to sleep off the alcohol with some afternoon naps.

It's a bit laddy, but Liam is so nice. He's much more relaxed now than when Louis met him before. He'd been a bit uptight, to hear Harry describe him, so anxious about winning the X Factor and then so devastated when their chances as a band were destroyed. Now he's getting what he wants, and he's working hard for it, but he's not frantic and frightened anymore. Louis thinks that this more chilled-out Liam might just be able to put up with him, and they might even be friends.

Falling in with Liam feels like those first weeks at USC when he had started to connect with people. He starts to feel like he belongs again. It makes him almost not want to leave California, even though he does miss his home and his family.

Then his sister calls.


	16. Chapter 16

When Lottie calls, Louis is busy packing a bowl for him and a few of his theatre friends, so he ignores it.

Instead of leaving a message, though, she calls again, and then a third time. Louis sets the weed aside and finally answers. “What's up, Lots?”

She sniffles, and guilt slams into him for not answering on the first ring. “Mum told us not to tell you but I think you should know.”

“What's going on? Are you okay?”

“Sort of. Louis, Dad moved out.”

 _“What?”_ Louis yelps. His friends are looking concerned, so he goes to slip out onto the patio of their house. “What the – what do you mean?”

“Mummy and Daddy have been fighting a lot. I think they're going to get divorced.”

“Oh my god. Oh, no. Are you sure?” Louis sags against the wall of the house.

“I don't know. He left a few days ago, though.”

A few days. And months of fights that no one mentioned to him. “Why didn't anyone tell me?”

“Mummy said we should let you enjoy your summer,” Lottie says sullenly. “She said you needed your space and you couldn't change it anyway. But I think you should know.”

“Jesus. Of course I'd want to know. I'm so sorry, Lottie.” His words feel like ashes in his mouth. She deserves so much more but there's nothing he can say to make this okay. It makes him feel sick that they thought he wouldn't want to know.

“Can I talk to Mum?”

“She's gonna be cross with me 'cause I told you.”

“I'll tell her not to. Please put her on, Lottie.”

Jay sounds resolute when she gets on the line. “I told her not to tell you. Honestly, Louis, we're fine.”

“Mum – I can't believe you'd keep this from me.”

“Oh, baby. We all thought – you've been so busy. You're doing your thing. We didn't want to interfere. Mark and I agreed.”

“I don't agree!” Louis exclaims. His voice catches on a sob. “Mum! I'm – just because I went away for a little while doesn't mean I'm not part of the _family._ I can't believe you wouldn't tell me.  How could you not _tell_ me?”

There's silence on the line, the truth hanging unspoken between them: Maybe she would have if Louis hadn't dodged so many calls. Louis had just thought she wanted to chat idly, typical mum stuff. It had never occurred to him that anything would go wrong while he was away – or that anyone would take his behaviour to mean he wouldn't want to know about it.

“Are you okay, Mum?”

She sighs shakily. “As okay as I can be. This has been... coming for a while. It's still hard. I'm so sorry. We really tried, boo, and it still didn't work.”

“I'm going to change my flight. I can be headed home as soon as my classes end next week.”

“Oh, Louis, you don't have to—”

“I can't not, Mum. I can't.”  

 

* * *

 

The first few weeks back in the UK are a gut-twisting mix of misery and joy. Adjusting to life with separated parents whilst trying to maintain normalcy for his sisters is painful. The end of summer is beautiful, though, and it makes his heart sing to reacquaint himself with his favourite parts of London again.

All too soon, he's back at St. Andrews, and he wishes he were anywhere else.

He misses his family, and it's strange being there without Gemma, who graduated and moved back to England in the spring. It makes him realise how few friends he has there. He only really connected with a handful of people in his first term, and he didn't keep in close contact with any of them.

“I'm kind of thinking I should just transfer to a different university,” he tells Jay, phone pressed to his ear as he walks down the street.

“Then you'll end up some place where you're even farther behind and you know even fewer people.”

Louis grimaces. “But it would be in a different way. And I could be close to you guys.”

“How do I put this... Lou, I don't think you should switch just for the sake of a change. Or even for us. It should be because another university offers something you want. Not just because you've suddenly decided you just don't want to be where you are.”

“Hmm.”

“You think I don't know what I'm talking about, but, just think about it.”

“Yeah, yeah, fine.”

“Have you been to see Harry?”

“Ugh, Mum, come on.”

“What?”

“Gordonstoun is ages away.”

“It's a few hours drive, so what?”

Louis rolls his eyes. “So what, that's easy for you to say.”

Jay pauses. “So he still hasn't forgiven for you to going to LA?”

“He's still not speaking to me, so, I guess not. Can we talk about something else? How's Lottie's new school?”

“Oh, she loves it! She's doing very well so far...”

Louis listens to her chatter and thinks with a pang of guilt how much easier this is now that they aren't nine time zones apart.

Life was easier in LA. Well, aside from all the driving and the horrible traffic, and the occasional difficulty in getting a decent cup of tea, but that was balanced by the sense of not having weight of responsibility that he always had in England. He'd felt happy and excited about what he was doing. He expanded his horizons, tried new things, met new people. He'd never entirely felt like he belonged, true, but he'd also been told that everyone felt that way about LA, that everyone was from somewhere else and no one really fit in.   

Now he's abandoned the LA sunshine in favour of Scottish gloom. He enjoys his literature courses well enough, but he misses the bustle of his weeks interning at the theatre. He's honestly not sure if he's done the right thing in returning to St. Andrews.  

He had loved LA. He had felt free; he'd felt like he was doing what he was meant to do.

On the other hand, he'd been so disconnected from his home and family that his parents had tried to get divorced without even telling him. Now he's shivering on a bench in St. Andrews, late for his class because he can't bear to hang up on his mother. He'd denied the feeling but he'd missed them all so much, and he's not sure what he wants out of his life, but he knows that he's been messing up for a while. It feels like he still is, only he can't figure out what part needs fixing.

So, eventually, he hangs up the phone, and he goes into class and pretends that discussing turn-of-the-century poetry is exactly what he wants to be doing right now.

 

* * *

 

Harry is actually excited when he first arrives at Gordonstoun.

He gets to drive himself there in his own car. He bought it in Inverness, so it isn't much of a drive, but it's still his car that he gets to drive all on his own. The sun is shining, the grass is green, and Gordonstoun looks grand and beautiful. He's finally going to be learning in a classroom full of people – he won't be constantly the only one under his teacher's scrutiny anymore, and he'll be able to make friends and work together with others.

He also gets to pick his service. The school expects everyone to work in something that benefits the community. He's excluded from a few things. He won't be around long enough to work in the volunteer fire service. They're not keen to have him on the search-and-rescue sailboat, either, as their incoming volunteers have usually learned to sail in their earlier years at the school. He convinces them, though, to let him join the coastguard team, as that doesn't require him to be able to physically sail the boat.

Before classes start, he gets to take a tour of the boat with the other new volunteers, most of whom are in the year below him. It's not a large vessel, but surprisingly complicated nonetheless. Everyone is scrupulously polite to him. He wishes they wouldn't be. He hasn't yet figured out how to get them to treat him like a normal person.

The situation with his roommate isn't off to a good start. The lad bolted within minutes of Harry arriving, and Harry has hardly seen him since. Don's things have moved around since then, so Harry knows he's been back, but he's never there when Harry is. He doesn't even come back most nights, which Harry is quite sure is against the rules. He has no idea where the other boy can even be sleeping. It's very strange.

Still, he's at least met some people. They all treat him as if he's got the plague, but surely he can work on that. Hasn't he been told before that he's charming?

He doesn't realise exactly how difficult this is going to be until lunch on the day classes begin.

The dining room hadn't been full the other times he'd been to it. There were fewer students around during the orientation days, and not everyone managed to get themselves to breakfast, so there had been a number of empty tables. This time, though, when he walks into the dining room, it seems that every single table is occupied. He freezes, halfway between the door and the food line. _Shit._ He spots some people he met at the coastguard orientation, but their table is already full. Same with the handful of people he recognises from his morning classes.

His heart starts racing. What is he supposed to do here? Does he sit down at a table of strangers? And, what, make their lunch supremely awkward? Make uncomfortable small talk with people who are afraid of him? Open a book and ignore them?

He turns around and walks out.

His grumbling stomach through the afternoon tells him what a terrible idea that was. He tries and tries to motivate himself, telling himself that he just has to suck it up and sit where he can at dinner and deal with it.

It doesn't work. The moment he sees the dining room, if anything more crowded than at lunch, he wants to turn tail and run. The only thing that stops him is that he is terribly hungry. He goes through the line and grabs himself a few bananas, then darts out of the dining room.

As first days go, it's a pretty poor one.

 

* * *

 

Harry eventually figures out that if he leaves for dinner as early as possible, he can get a table in the corner and wolf down his food before it gets awkward. He gives up on lunch, though. His class schedule is such that he simply can't get to the dining room before it's mostly full.

The house matron catches him in his room one lunch period and scolds him for skipping meals, so he takes to walking the footpaths in the area. It's not the wild highlands he imagined: the school is surrounded mainly by farmland, low open spaces interspersed with stands of trees and homes. It's still beautiful in its way, though, and it's easier not to feel ignored when no one is around him anyway. His strolls help settle his nerves, and after a while he stops feeling so hungry. Or maybe he just gets better at ignoring the feeling. He isn't entirely sure, but either way, his days feel more bearable.

He can't wait until he gets to go out on the coastguard boat. People will have to talk to him when they're stuck out at sea all day. So far he's just gotten first aid and safety training in the classroom.

At the end of his third week, he's heading out for his lunch time ramble when he's startled by a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, Harry!” says an unfamiliar voice.

Harry turns to see a slender and incredibly handsome man falling into step next to him. He looks a bit middle Eastern – he's light-skinned, but he has dark hair, dark eyes, and distinctive features with thick dark brows and lashes. He looks like a model with his glossy hair and sharp cheekbones.

“Hey, er, Zayn, right?” Harry has noticed this guy around. They don't have any classes together, but Harry knows that he's in upper sixth too. He's always surrounded by a small crowd of people with perfect hair and upper-class accents, and everyone seems to know their names.

Zayn smirks. “Yeah, that's me. You should come sit with me and my friends at lunch.”

Harry blinks at him. “Oh, that's kind of you to offer,” he says, falling back on little polite phrases in his confusion.

A tiny blonde woman who Harry hadn't noticed leans forward from the other side of Zayn. “You should get to know us,” she says with a smirk. Her accent sounds American. “We're, you know, the right kind of people, if you know what I mean.”

“I'm not sure I do,” Harry says slowly, though he thinks he does. This girl is some sort of heiress, he's fairly sure. She's in his history course and she always has some non-regulation bit of designer clothing peeking out from her uniform.

“Don't be crude, Vienna,” Zayn says to the girl, who pouts at him and flips her hair. Harry's not at all sure that he wants to sit with them, but Zayn is already steering him towards the entrance of the refectory.

Their table is perfectly positioned: close to the food, but not along any major paths, so there aren't people walking right by and jostling their chairs. It's obviously a premium location. Harry is introduced to everyone when he comes back: Lady Cara, tall and sharp, daughter of a duke;  Alisdair, Earl of Inverness, whose father was a prominent member of the Scottish parliament until his recent death; Gita, daughter of an Indian real estate magnate whose recent London property deals even Harry has heard of; Lord Alexander; Lord Christopher; and Lady Alissa, daughter of an MP and one of the very few black students Harry has noticed here.

“I can't believe you introduced us all by title, Vienna, how _embarrassing,”_ Cara coos, smiling.

“Well, he needs to know, doesn't he? Anyway, and Zayn's mum is Countess of Bradford, so he's an Honourable,” Vienna continues. “Poor us and Gita, no titles.”

“Yes, poor little rich girls,” Cara snickers, pushing at Vienna's shoulder so she tips to the side. “What difficult lives you lead.”

Harry sees what they clearly want him to see: they're all wealthy, mostly titled, all well-connected. They're exactly the sort of people that Anne wanted him to go to meet and get to know.

They spend most of the lunch hour gossiping, mainly about people that Harry doesn't know. Sometimes one of them will try to clarify for them, but it's rarely effective. “Lord Stanley – oh, you know, Harry, he's the one whose horse won so many races last year, you know that beautiful blue roan.” (Harry doesn't know.)

The girls' plates are all salad and chicken, without a carb in sight. Harry finds it depressing. “I can't believe you're actually eating _potatoes,”_ Vienna says, giggling and pointing at Harry's plate.

“That'll be his Irish roots, I suppose,” Alexander drawls in his south-English accent. “Such charmingly simple tastes, the Irish.”

Harry bristles. “Spare me the condescension,” he mutters, pushing his plate away.

Everyone laughs. They're all laughing at him. “Oh, don't be so prickly, darling,” Gita smirks, squeezing his upper arm. “Loosen up! Oh, Vee, did you hear about how angry Mr. Hunt got in class this morning? It was such a laugh.”

That takes them on a ten-minute tangent of mocking their teachers. Of course Harry has laughed at his teachers too, but there's a cruel edge to this. They seem to delight in any flaw they see. They have such contempt for everyone outside of their little clique – and, actually, they don't even seem terribly kind to each other, trading little barbs and passive-aggressive comments. Harry isn't the only one to earn some laughs and sneering remarks.

Harry leaves lunch feeling genuinely baffled. Is that supposed to be friendship? Is that how all of the posh kids are? Gemma isn't that way. As selfish as Louis' actions were, even he isn't  _mean_ like that.

He hurt Harry more than any of these vicious people ever could, but Louis could never be half as malicious as any of them. The thought sits uncomfortably in Harry.

Zayn's group finds him in his room Saturday night and drags him out to the weekly social, which is bowling this time. Harry hasn't had the courage to attend any of the socials after the terrible, lonely awkwardness of all of his attempts to socialise at school. It actually is nice, incredibly nice, to be out with other young people, shouting at each other over loud music and sharing greasy chips with the lads. Even the way they speak to each other isn't so unpleasant here. Trash-talk is a staple of this kind of thing, after all. He knows that he and Niall would be ribbing each other mercilessly if Niall were here.

He lifts his phone to take a picture as Zayn swings the bowling ball and texts it to Niall. Niall writes back almost immediately: _omg you r actually out with ppl?!!!!_

Harry laughs. _Yeah they're wankers but at least theyre hanging out with me_ , he writes back.

Niall responds with a string of laughing and happy emojis. _I'm revising, im so bored._

Harry sends back a shocked-face emoji. _Revising on a Saturday night?!_

 _I'm ashamed :(_ , Niall writes back.

“Harryyyy, stop texting,” Vienna whines. She's leaning forward with a pout. Harry can see down her dress when he looks at her, and he's not sure whether it's an accident. She beams at him when he looks up from her phone, then bounces up to get herself a bowling ball.

“Why did I have to stop texting if you weren't even going to stay and talk to me?” he asks plaintively, not loudly enough for her to hear over the music.

It's not a bad night. He supposes it's good that now he has people he can sit with at meals. He just wishes he liked them more. Silently, he resolves to keep walking right past the refectory if one of them doesn't catch him next week.

 

* * *

 

They get a weekend to leave campus in late September. He's planning to come back to London for it until he's offered his first chance to work on the coastguard boat.

His stomach is in knots all day until he finally has the time and courage to call Anne. They have a standing Skype date every Sunday, so she's surprised to hear from him. “What is it, dear?”

“It's... well, they told me I could come out on the boat this weekend. It's my first chance, because they're short-handed for the leave-out weekend. But I had already planned to come see you, so...”

“Oh, Harry, of course you should stay. You've been waiting for this opportunity,” Anne says gently.

“Really?” Harry fidgets. He didn't think this would be so easy. “Are you sure? I know you were looking forward to me being there.”

“Yes, but this is important too. It's okay, Harry. I'll see you in a few weeks for the half-term break. I can wait.”

Harry tries not to sigh audibly in relief as he hears the smile in her voice. “Thank you. I'm so excited to actually get out on the boat. Or ship? I think it's a boat?”

Anne laughs. “I'm sure you'll find out this weekend.”

It turned out to in fact be a boat, on account of its small size. Harry was shocked to see that there was only one officer from the actual military coastguard; the entire rest of the crew was composed of students. They seemed few in comparison to the size of the vessel, but on board it quickly felt crowded, as equipment took up so much of the actual space.

“Let's show you how navigation works,” says Joseph, another student in his year. Harry follows him obediently to the bridge, and watches him lay out various charts, pencils, and compasses. “Now, we're here, and we're heading over here. We've got to avoid some shallow rocks here, see? So we've got to start out at this bearing, but we've got to account for the current from the tide also...”

Harry watches in fascination as Joseph's hands fly across the chart, doing little calculations and drawing lines. “So there's the actual course we have to steer to end up where we want. We'll go through this again more slowly, but let me tell Abby first so she can get us going.”

When he returns, Harry asks, “Why don't you just have a computer figure all this out?”

“Good question. Yeah, we do double-check with a computer sometimes actually, but no, we like to do it by hand and we generally do, yeah, 'cause like, what if the computer breaks, you know? It's a redundancy thing. And if you do it yourself, you know you did it right, whereas, like, what if the computer program's got a bug or something?”

“But what if you didn't do it right?” Harry bites his lip. “I'm not very good at maths. I was not told there would be maths.”

“Mate, I get it. I'm doing art for my A-levels. It's not that hard. You'll get the hang of it. Let's go through it again...”

Harry smiles, even as confused as he is by all of the charts and angles. Joseph is treating him like a normal person. Harry thinks he'll like being on the boat.

Later, he's having a bit of a break while Joseph tends to some other things. Two girls, Abby and Theresa, are handling the steering and navigation. He's watching them placidly when Theresa turns and says, “Hey, you're not doing anything. Can you get us some tea?”

“Theresa! You can't ask him to get us tea!” Abby hisses, her braid of ginger hair swinging as her head snaps to the side to glare at the other girl.

“Why not? We're all equal on here, right? We'd ask anyone who wasn't busy. Harry's not busy. So?” Theresa turns her head; she doesn't lock eyes with Harry, but she looks at him with a firm expression on her face.

Harry jumps up with a grin. “Two teas, coming up.”

They're still bickering when he comes back with two cups of tea and a handful of biscuits. “Thank you,” Theresa says politely while Abby blushes. “You know, I asked Cara to bring me tea once and she told me to get it myself. Then she started painting her nails.”

“I didn't even know that she was in this service.”

“She's not,” Abby says.

“She got kicked out. No, I'm sorry, it was suggested that she'd be happier in a different service.” Theresa rolls her eyes. “Why do you hang out with them?”

“Oh my god, Terry, don't,” Abby groans.

“You seem nice,” Theresa continues, ignoring her friend. “They're not nice.”

Harry shrugs. He's quiet for a long moment, considering how open to be. “Well. They talk to me. Most people don't.”

“I'm talking to you,” Theresa says. Abby puts her face in her hands and groans.

“That's... true?”

“So you can hang out with us. If you want.”

“Oh. Thank you.” Harry asks slowly, trying not to feel hopeful.

“Yeah. Hang out with us if you want.” Theresa shrugs. “Hey, we're passing those rocks soon. Go calculate the next leg of the trip. Joe will check it when he's back.”

Harry quirks a smile. “I'm probably going to mess it up, but, okay, I'll try.”

“I suppose that's all anyone can ask,” Theresa says in a mournful tone. Abby just starts laughing incredulously. Harry decides that he likes them.


	17. Chapter 17

It's been raining for a month straight. Louis is sure of it.

When he complains, one of his classmates points out that it was sunny only just last week. “Yeah, so, an entire week ago!” Louis says indignantly while the other man laughs. “Oh, god, LA really did make me soft.”

He's pathetic. He's also tired of always being slightly damp.

Maybe he's tired of sitting in a course that he wouldn't have chosen if he were free when he started uni. It's much simpler to be annoyed by the drizzle than to think about that, though.

Still, it's on his mind when he sees a snapchat from Liam's private account. He's waving what looks like an invitation while one of his song plays in the background. It's too blurry to read what the card says, but the snap is captioned “RELEASE PARTY FOR SINGLE #2!!!!”

Feeling cheeky, Louis snaps back a pouting face to Liam captioned, _“Where's my invite?”_

It's a joke, mostly, but Liam texts him almost immediately. _Of course ur invited if u want to come!! next friday 8pm at the troubadour in hwood lol._

Louis doesn't respond right away. Instead he opens his calendar app and flips through his schedule. It would be foolish and irresponsible to jet off to LA for a party, he tells himself. At a minimum he'd have to miss a few days of class – he could leave Friday morning and get to LA by their evening, but it'd be better to leave Thursday or even Wednesday on account of jet lag. On the other hand, he doesn't have any exams during that time, and it's hardly a crime to miss a couple classes.

He's just going to look up plane tickets out of curiosity. He simply wants to know what it would cost, in theory. He's definitely not going to buy a ticket. That would be ridiculous.

 

* * *

 

It takes a few days for Harry to muster up the courage to try to sit with his coastguard acquaintances. He does actually go to lunch that week, scoping the place out and figuring out where the people he met usually sit.

On Thursday, he's ready to make his move. He enters the dining room and makes a beeline to Theresa and Abby. He realises, with a sinking feeling, that their table is full, every chair occupied by people he mostly doesn't recognise. He's about to abort the mission, but Theresa spots him and waves, so he has no choice but to continue on.

“Ah, hey, Theresa,” he says, nodding at her. “And Abby.” Abby smiles shyly at him.

“Hello, Harry,” Theresa answers. She turns to the rest of the table and informs them, “This is Harry.”

Harry waves awkwardly. One boy laughs and says, “We know!”

“Yeah, so. How're you guys?” Harry asks, attempting to direct his question to Theresa and Abby as if the whole table isn't staring at them.

“We're fine,” Abby says quietly.

“I've got a headache but it's not too bad,” Theresa informs him. She frowns. “Did you want—”

“Harry!”

Harry jerks, startled, as an arm is flung around his shoulders. It's Alisdair from what he's started to think of as Zayn's clique. “Mate, you are urgently needed,” Alisdair says. “Sorry, all, but I've got to steal this one. Toodles!”

Harry nearly trips over his own feet as Alisdair steers him away. “What do you need me for?”

“Ah, you've got it backwards, you need me to rescue you from those people.” 

“I met them at coastguard last weekend. I was talking to them on purpose.”

“Oh, Harry.” Alisdair pats him on the chest condescendingly. “I know you've not been here long enough to get the lay of the land yet. Theresa's a fucking headcase and the people who put up with her aren't much better. Most of those are scholarship kids, you know. They don't shower enough and they're all just going to graduate and go back to being fishermen or whatever it is their parents do. You seriously don't want to get caught up with them.”

Harry is so appalled that he just sputters, which Alisdair ignores in his patrician way.

That night, he calls Gemma. It takes him two tries, but eventually she picks up.

“Hey, Haz what's up?”

“Boarding school sucks.”

“Ah, okay. Need to vent?”

Harry sighs. “No. Yes. I don't know. I just... I don't know, I guess you went through this most recently out of anyone I know, so...”

“That's true,” she says evenly.

“You know I'm off next week. We didn't have plans to hang out because you were going to be in, what, France, right?”

“Oh, I didn't tell you? I'm going up to St. Andrews to visit some of my friends who are still at school, actually. So I suppose if you want to come down to St. Andrews...”

“Oh! Yes!” Harry says quickly. Relief washes over him at the prospect of getting to talk to and spend time with his sister, but it's short-lived. “Oh, unless. I mean. I suppose I'd be intruding on your time with friends.”

“It's fine. They'll be thrilled to meet you. And I can carve out some time for just the two of us.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, yeah, it's all good. You can drive down when you're done with school, and spend a day or two with me before moving on, sound good?”

“Yeah, sounds good.”

 

* * *

 

Harry's weekend is mostly taken up by first-aid and search-and-rescue training, which is a mix of horrifying and fascinating information. Then he only has to get through a couple more days of school work and avoiding people before he's free for the half-term break.

For a person who only got their license a few short months ago, it's a challenging drive to St. Andrews: long hours on narrow, winding, unfamiliar roads, mostly in the dark. He feels wrung-out by the time he arrives at the address Gemma gave him. It takes an hour lying on a sofa while Gemma plies him with beer and takeaway to feel somewhat revived.

Gemma texts with her friends to make plans for the evening. Feeling a bit more spirited, Harry stands and walks slowly through the flat, looking around curiously. There's no one else here, but the flat clearly isn't an AirBnB sort of place. It could be charitably called “lived-in,” and uncharitably called “a mess.” Someone clearly made an effort to clean up, but mostly in the form of shoving piles of things into the corners of the room.

He feels a creeping suspicion as he looks around. Haphazard piles of literature, a Doncaster Rovers shirt tossed on one of the piles, an empty box of Yorkshire tea under a table. “Gemma, whose flat is this?” he asks, trailing his fingers over a beautiful but dented table.

“Er. It's Louis',” she admits.

He spins to face her, hot with indignation. “You brought me to Louis' flat?” he exclaims. He crosses his arms as though the pressure could calm his pounding heart. “Why – that's – you could've warned me! I don't, I don't want to hang out with Louis.”

She stares at him with her eyebrows raised. “Wow, so you're still being weird about him, okay. Well, calm down. He's not even here.”

“Oh.” Harry frowns. “He's not? But, it's only Wednesday. He has classes.”

Gemma shrugs. “I was planning to stay with him, and he called me and told me he was going to LA but I could still stay in his flat.”

“Oh, so he's just abandoned his life and buggered off to LA again? I should've known,” Harry scoffs.

“Harry, jeez!” Gemma snaps. “You can't have it both ways, either you're mad about having to see him or mad that you don't get to see him, pick one.”

“Ugh.” Harry turns away to pace the room. “Whatever. I don't care. So what're we doing tonight?”

 

* * *

 

Louis spends his first jet-lagged days in LA crashing on floors in his friends' dorms, napping in the sun while they attend classes or sneaking in to lurk in the back of their lectures. He feels like a tourist, and he supposes he always was one in California. Staring up at a palm tree, he feels very acutely that this isn't his home, but he still loves it.

Liam's party is huge and raucous. He performs a few of his songs, but after that it really is just a party. The most elite guests are B-list at best, and they're all on the same record label as Liam. The crowd is a bizarre mix of desperate reality stars who will show up to anything if they think they'll get their picture taken, along with genuinely talented musicians and actors who are still waiting for their big break. The former flock to Louis like flies to honey, mostly to ask him about the royal family; he does his best to evade them and talk to the interesting people that don't approach him.

Liam is the man of the hour: his first single, expected to barely make a ripple in the US, had become a sleeper hit in America in addition to doing well in the UK. This, he'd explained to Louis, was the reason his California-based producer was throwing this celebration. Louis thinks it seems over-the-top for the situation, but he can't deny that it's an excellent party. He has fun even though he doesn't get to see much of Liam at all.

Every time Louis tries to get close, Liam is surrounded by colleagues and new friends. Louis hangs back respectfully for a while. After his fourth drink, he remembers that this is a party and he has no reason to fuss with etiquette. Anyway, he's the life of the party and obviously Liam's newest friends will love him. And if they don't, he can jet away tomorrow and never come back.

It doesn't take long at all before he's become one of them, laughing raucously, swapping back stories, and throwing back shots with Liam and everyone else.

The night becomes a blur rather quickly. Louis wakes up the next day on an unfamiliar, very soft sofa in a small flat. He thinks he feels fine until he sits up and the motion sets off a flare of pain in his head. “Ow, no, why,” he moans, sinking back against the cushions.

“You awake, man?” a voice calls from another room.

Louis realises with relief that it's Liam. “Unfortunately,” he yells back.

“Okay, I'm gonna get up.” Liam pads through the living room, earning himself a lazy wave from Louis. He returns a few minutes later with tea, biscuits, and painkillers.

“Biscuits aren't breakfast or hangover food,” Louis complains, eating one anyway.

Liam shrugs. “I have stuff for smoothies but I didn't want to deal with the blender. Wanna play Xbox?”  

“Snacks and entertainment and I don't even have to get up? Yes, please.”

They play FIFA until they feel well enough to consider eating some real food. They place an order for pizza, then go back to the game. Their conversation while playing has largely been limited to trash talk, so it takes Louis by surprise when Liam ventures, “Don't take this the wrong way, but... mate, why are you here?”

“Why are any of us here? Philosophers have pondered this question for ages,” Louis intones, pitching his voice as low as it will go.

Liam elbows him. “Come on, seriously. It's the middle of term. You missed half a week of classes to come to my party?”

“More like a whole week, I'm sticking around a couple more days – yes! Go for the cross!”

“I mean, I don't blame you for, like, wanting a vacation. But I thought you were really focused on school and stuff.”

Louis sighs and pauses the game. “Do you really want to get into this?”

“Yeah, mate, totally,” Liam says immediately, turning to Louis with wide, earnest eyes.

Louis cocks his head and laughs. “Seriously? You want to listen to me bitch instead of just playing FIFA?”

“Sure.”

“Ah,” Louis sighs, waving a finger at Liam. “There's that serious Liam I remember from X Factor.”

Liam laughs. “What do you mean?”

“You were just super serious and focused when I first met you. It seems like you've loosened up a lot. But now you're all...” Louis waves a hand in front of his face. “Serious again.”

“I'm kind of worried about you,” Liam shrugs.

“You're a good friend,” Louis says slowly, like he's only just realising it. “Well, okay. It's just. Like, I chose to study English because – I mean, I do like it a lot. I like literature and poetry and words, I like books, I like writing. But, it wasn't my first choice, you know? I picked it because it was appropriate enough for me being Prince Louis. But now I'm not... like, I could, in theory, study something else now. I could do anything. But I feel like I should finish what I started. Three more terms and I'll have my degree...”

“So, you don't really want to stick with your English degree, but you feel like you shouldn't quit it.”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“What are you gonna do with the degree? Like, will you use it? What comes after you graduate?”

“Hm. That's... a good question.” Louis sighs and lets his drop back against the back of the couch and addresses his words at the ceiling. “Is there any future for my English degree? Does it have a point outside of just finishing it?”

“I'm just saying, if it doesn't, then maybe you're better off switching to what you really want to do. Even if it sets you back. Because if you wait another couple years to start on what you actually want, ultimately, then you're even farther behind, you know what I mean?”

“That's a fair point, Payno.”

The doorbell rings, and Liam sits up excitedly. “Oh! Pizza!”

“Let's table this conversation for now,” Louis says.

“If you want,” Liam shrugs, standing. “But think about it, you know? What you really want? You can always talk to me.”

“Yeah,” Louis agrees quietly. “Thanks, man.”

 

* * *

 

“It's just hard to imagine you having trouble making friends,” Gemma says. “You're likeable, you're charming. What's the problem?”

“What isn't the problem?” Harry says bitterly. “People are weirded out by me. All they see is my crazy story and not _me._ Plus, I'm new, I'm clueless, I don't know the norms. Most of them having been going to school together for ages and they don't need new friends. I'm literally the only new student in upper sixth. And I'm a year older than everyone, that's an issue. And everyone treats me so weird, hardly anyone approaches me, they seem nervous when I talk to them...”

“So you have to make the first move and be a little persistent. You make them get used to you.”

“...and then the only people who do talk to me voluntarily are, like, nobility and super-rich people who are used to, you know, hanging out with the 'elite' so they're not intimidated by me.”

Gemma pounces on that. “So people do want to talk to you! Okay, you need friends, they want to be your friends, great. You need to get over your prejudices, Harry. Half of my friends have titles and they're lovely people, you've met loads of them.”

“No, I don't mean — ugh.” Harry groans. “But, like, they think they're better than everyone, and I feel like they only want to be my friend because of my family and my position! They don't care about me.”

Gemma shakes her head slowly. “Give them a chance, Harry.”

“And they're so mean, it's such Mean Girls shit, except they're not all girls, but the little passive-aggressive comments all the time,” Harry continues. “Like, last week, Zayn said—”

“Wait, wait, wait, Zayn? Zayn Malik?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, shit, okay, I take back everything I said. I've heard about him and his little squad. Oh, god, you haven't gone to any of his parties, have you?”

“No... he invited me to one right after we're back from the break, though.”

Gemma presses a hand to her chest. “I know I can't tell you not to go, but seriously, my advice is not to go. Although, if you do go, tell me all about it, because I really want to know if the crazy rumours are true. But don't go. You know, he used to be at, oh, Harrow I think, but he had this huge falling out with the group of lads he was friends with and he left, it was really dramatic. There was all kinds of gossip. I don't know, I've just heard bad things about him and how he treats people.”

Harry slowly answers, “Okay, I didn't know a lot of that, but I'm still gonna say, see, that's what I was trying to tell you.”

Gemma grimaces. “And there's no one else you've, like, struck up any kind of bond with?”

“Well, there's these people in the coastguard with me. I tried to sit with them once but Alisdair, that's one of Zayn's friends, he practically dragged me back to their table. So it's weird, like I feel like they'll be angry if I leave them, and I'm also worried, what if I'm intruding on those other people. I don't know them very well. I'm nervous to, like, impose myself on them. What do you think?”

“Okay.” Gemma presses her hands together. “So boarding school politics can be quite bullshit. If you ditch that clique, there will be consequences, it's true. They'll at least hold a grudge and snub you in the future. But, I do think you'd be right to try to cultivate friendships outside of them. What I would try, and this is risky, but you could try to alternate spending time with them and your new friends. Try to test out the waters with your coastguard friends without alienating the people you do already know until you're ready to cut them out.”

“What if Theresa and Abby and their friends don't really like me, though? What if I piss them off?” 

Gemma shrugs. “Like I said, you're likable. I honestly think it'll work out for you. You've just got to be brave. You know, is the payoff of having friends you like better worth the risk? I think probably. You've got like six months left there, and do you really want to put up with Zayn's squad that whole time?”

Harry groans and buries his face in his hands. “I should've figured out how to go straight to uni. Why am I dealing with this high school crap?”

“Well, since we haven't yet figured out time travel, you're just going to have to figure out how to cope with this timeline, my friend.” She pats him on the shoulder and only laughs at him a little.

Talking with Gemma gives him enough hope that he can pretend everything is fine during the next few days that he spends in London with Anne and some of his other relatives. He puts on a happy face and tells his mother about the classes he's enjoyed and the things he's learned about in coastguard training. In turn, she happily tells him stories from her school days.

“I was the first girl to go away to school at all in our family, you know,” she says with a nostalgic smile.  Harry's fascinated by her story, fascinated to learn that as recently as the 1970s she was fighting to be educated outside of the home. “My mother hated the idea – she was so protective – but I thought it just didn't make sense in the modern world. Or perhaps I just wanted to get away and meet some new people. Those were very special years for me.”

After London, he flies to Dublin for a few hectic days with Niall, who is studying there, before their parents arrive and they all head to Mullingar together to see the rest of the family. They take the train, and it's just like their childhood excursions to the city, except that this time there's a bodyguard sitting across the aisle from them.

Stepping off the train, Harry feels like he's taken his first deep breath in months. Mullingar still feels like home after all these years.

He wears thick sweaters and sits outside with a cup of tea, looking out over impossibly green fields, and remembers running wild through them at six, eight, ten years old. He walks through the narrow streets arm-in-arm with Niall under a canopy of grey clouds, and remembers two little boys begging for permission to walk to the shops and buy sweets on their own for the first time – no parents, no minders, just the two of them feeling ever so independent. He remembers a time when he couldn't imagine any other place or any other life than this. He remembers age 11, crying endlessly when his parents told him they were all moving away. He remembers coming back at 17, feeling like a stranger in the country that raised him.

Ireland hasn't been home in a long time, yet it will always be his home. He wants to inscribe it on his skin somehow, carry it with him and always remember, _This is me. This is my family. This is where I came from._

The thought haunts him all weekend. After he realises that he has a few hours' layover in London on the way back to Scotland, he spends sleepless late-night hours scrolling through tattoo parlour reviews. He says tearful good-byes on Sunday morning and hugs his family tightly before slipping into the car that will whisk him away. Then he takes a deep breath, he turns to his bodyguard, and says, “Hey, Paul, can you make some calls for me?”


	18. Chapter 18

Harry hadn't planned to accept the invitation to Zayn's party, but Gemma's cautionary words had made him curious. It's probably stupid of him but he has to know.

The party is at Alisdair's estate near Inverness. Harry drives himself, figuring that if it's awful, he can sneak out. He's expecting a normal teen party, maybe with less terrible alcohol than he encountered at parties before. That's not exactly what he finds.

There's a professional sound system pouring thumping music into the house. Everyone is beautiful and posing like they know it, decked out in designer clothes and jewellery. There is alcohol, but there's a lot more than that, too. He suspects that the pile of powder on the kitchen counter is literally cocaine. He's also pretty sure that he spots a couple having sex in a powder room with the door wide open. It's not at all the same as the parties he used to go to with a bunch of goofy Irish teenagers sprawled on ancient sofas, drinking cheap cider and lager, yelling shit jokes at one another.

A few hours later, Harry feels weird, wrong, and a little bit sick. He steps outside for some fresh air. The cold hits him like a slap to the face, but he thinks it makes everything feel a little less sharper, a little less blurry and muffled.

There's a bench out there. Harry staggers over and falls gracelessly into it. Zayn is on the bench already. Harry distantly feels that this is strange, that sober-Harry wouldn't plop down next to Zayn out here, but in the moment, he just really wants to sit on the bench. It's a good bench.

He's not even sure at this point what he's taken, or how much of it. He feels stupid and spacey, like his brain is wrapped in thick wool and he's swimming through muddy water. It's not pleasant at all. It baffles him to think that people seek this feeling out.

With effort, he turns his head to look at Zayn. He's always beautiful, but he looks very different from usual at the moment. He's relaxed, Harry thinks, the predatory gleam in his eye dulled. He's just sitting and smoking a joint and he looks peaceful.

“Why are you the way you are?” Harry asks slowly.

Zayn looks at him with a smirk. “How fucked-up are you right now?”

“This many.” Harry extends his hands and spreads his fingers. “You gonna answer me?”

“I really don't even know what that question means, man.”

“Like. You're.” Harry waves his hands, trying to express himself, but he gets distracted for a while watching the patterns his pale fingers make against the sky. “You're mean. You're not nice. Even, like, with your friends. But they're your friends. You know? It's nice to be nice.”

Zayn puffs out a few rings of smoke. “All right. Mate, don't you hear the way people talk about me? I got called a towel-head the other day. Paki, all that shit. Arseholes. They think my family is wrong. Like we're taking something that belongs to someone else. Fuck 'em. You get power, you protect yourself, see.”

“Hmm.” Harry lets his head loll back against the top of the bench. “I don't think that's the only way.”

“It's my way, though.” Zayn sounds so comfortable with that fact.

“Huh.”

Harry muses fuzzily on this for a while, until he starts throwing up. He doesn't remember much after that.

He wakes up hugging an ottoman in a living room and wearing someone else's shirt. He manages to find his essential belongings – coat, phone, wallet, keys – picking his way around slumbering revelers. It's early and he feels like death, but he needs to get out of there.

He has to pull over twice to puke, but he makes it back to Gordonstoun. He spends most of the day in bed. It's a fairly awful experience. When his mind clears enough, he curls under the covers, running his fingers over his new tattoo, thinking about his life, thinking about who he is and what he wants while his head throbs and his stomach twists.

 

* * *

 

Once he works up the courage to do it, sitting with Theresa and Abby and their friends is easy. He just drags a chair over and sits down. Abby smiles at him, Theresa immediately starts telling him a story about her chemistry class, and that's that. He eventually manages to introduce himself to everyone at the table. Alisdair was right that they're mostly students on scholarship. Their backpacks are normal high street brands, not designer labels, and their mealtime talk is the usual mix of banter, complaining about school, and comparing notes and homework answers. He suddenly feels like he's back in his normal school environment for the first time in a long, lonely year, and he nearly has to cry when he realises it.

They have childhood stories that he relates to. They have no pet horses, no vacations on other continents, no au pairs, no ski chalets. It takes him some time to figure out that that doesn't mean they're completely normal. They're all extremely clever – he should have known that from the fact that they've received scholarships, but he didn't quite put it together at first. It really hits him when he witnesses a spirited discussion of string theory between Theresa and Kevin, and he feels like he barely understands one word out of five. They're all getting top marks, bound for top universities, and they all have great ambitions.

He admires them, with their drive and their focus. They all have plans, big plans, and they worry a lot about whether things will work out but they're still trying.

He even starts sitting with them at dinners most days. It means he can spend time among friends every day even if he does skip lunch. It's not like he really _needs_ to go to lunch – he takes extra food from breakfast and stashes it in his room in case he needs it. He's gotten somewhat unused to a big meal mid-day, and very used to his walks. They're soothing. He still often feels morose, or touchy and quick to anger; it's better now but he's still far from happy with his situation. His long strolls help, he thinks.

He gets to know the people he eats meals with, slowly meets more people through them, and eases toward a normal sort of life where he has friends and he knows the people sitting by him in class. He gets to go out on the coastguard boat a few more times, and he keeps up well with his classes even though they're difficult. It's bearable.

He doesn't try to play both sides and keep up with Zayn's clique. Gita corners him one day in an empty hall and tells him in a sharp voice not to burn any bridges. It's vaguely threatening, but he doesn't change what he's doing.

By the next week, he's basically dead to them. They ignore him or say catty things about him when they know he's within earshot. He finds it oddly hard not to laugh when that happens.

To his surprise, much of student body seems to take an interest in this quiet skirmish. Most of his fellow students had seemed neutral to him before. Now, some of them glare at him in the halls or shift away from him in class. Others who never gave him a second glance before now give him shy smiles or ask if they can compare answers on the homework.

Sitting in the lounge with Abby and her boyfriend Esteban, he muses, “What's really weird to me is that it's not along class lines, at all. It's not, like, posh versus not. I kind of thought it would be.”

“Nah,” Esteban says. “It's jerks who want to be on top no matter what, and admire people who got to the top, versus people who know that lot are jerks.”

 

* * *

 

After the term ends, he flies straight to Marseille. Gemma has rented a tiny flat that she's been staying at for a few weeks. She finds them all a beautiful villa nearby to rent, a little getaway for Harry, Anne, Bill, Laura, and Niall before Christmas. The villa is an old building with wall-to-wall parquet floors and intricate plaster moulding, but filled with clean-lined contemporary furniture.

Harry and Niall share a room. It makes Harry feel like a little kid again, and it lets them stay up until all hours of the night, just talking. “I can't believe this posh boarding-school bullshit,” Niall says, and they laugh together about all the petty squabbles. He tells Harry about his music course at university and prods him to think about what he'll study. “Stop looking at your feet and look at where you're going.”

“Wow. That's poetic, man. Deep.”

Niall punches him in the arm. “Shut up. I'm working on songwriting. I gotta think like that. That line was good. I'm going to use it.”

The villa is close to the beach. Niall and Harry are determined to enjoy it, perhaps lie out in the sun for a bit. Unfortunately, despite the sun, it's cold. They never even warm up enough to take their jumpers off, and soon retreat inside, admitting defeat.

They find Gemma curled up inside with a steaming mug of tea and her laptop. Harry flops down near her and props his feet up on the table. “Are you coming back here after Christmas?”

“I think so. I might stay until spring. I'm not really sure.” She laughs softly, smiling the same lopsided smile that Harry does sometimes. “This flat's a mess already. I think I'll need a month just to get it straightened up and everything brought back home.”

“What are you doing here, anyway?” Niall asks, slouching comfortably into an armchair.

Gemma shrugs. “Writing.”

“Like, a book?” he asks.

“Some short pieces that I can sell, but yeah, I'm sort of working on a novel, too. It's probably crap but it's practice at least.”

“You're going to get published?” Harry asks.

“We'll see. I think so, though. I've got some good leads. It's quite tricky though, I'm trying to be anonymous, for obvious reasons, you know.”

“Do you have a pen name? Can we come up with an awesome pen name for you?” Niall grins. “Oh man, imagine the possibilities.”

Gemma snorts. “Make up a short list for me and I'll consider 'em.”

 

* * *

 

“I can't believe I'm not going to Sandringham this year,” Louis says.

“I'm so happy you don't have to go away,” Fizzy says, leaning up against him. “We all get to have Christmas together!”

“Mummy used to have to go, too,” Lottie informs her. Daisy gasps.

“You don't even remember that!” Louis teases, tugging on one of Lottie's braids.

She swats his hand away with an annoyed noise. “I do too!”

“Yes, it's going to be a very special Christmas for us this year,” Jay says. “All right, everyone out, no running, girls.”

Louis lets himself be surrounded by his crowd of tiny sisters as they enter Buckingham Palace. He focuses on the rambling story that Phoebe is attempting to tell and tries not to think about Harry. He'd broken out in a hideous flop sweat thinking about seeing Harry again for the first time in nearly a year, resulting in him having to take a hasty shower and change his shirt before they left. Fizzy hasn't told him yet that he smells bad, and she's in a brutally honest phase at the moment, so he prays that means that he's all right. He thinks he's ready.

He focuses on everyone else when they get to the sitting room. Anne stands to greet them and gracefully thanks them for coming to this early Christmas dinner before the family leaves for Sandringham. Louis kisses her powdered cheek and hugs Gemma. By the time he passes Gemma, Harry has already been pulled away by Lottie. Louis wonders if Harry will simply ignore him all evening.

As he's fetching Daisy a drink from the cart against the wall, though, Harry falls into step beside him and extends a hand to shake. “Good to see you, Louis,” he says in a monotone voice, his face expressionless. He drops Louis' hand after a quick, firm shake and takes a chair.

Louis wasn't ready.

He can't stop sneaking glances at Harry now that he's looked at him directly once. Harry's different. He seems more poised, more contained, quieter. His hair is longer and his face is sharper. His hands look delicate, almost bony, but his grip had felt strong. He's beautiful, and that's not exactly a surprise, but Louis perhaps had forgotten how magnetic Harry truly is in the flesh.

Anne and Jay sit next to each other, proudly updating each other on the state of their children. The twins are on their best behaviour, sitting stiffly next to each other on a couch in matching dresses. Louis manages to exchange some words with Gemma. He's trying to focus on her – the last few months are probably the longest the two of them have ever been apart – but he has one eye on his sisters, and then his attention keeps drifting to Harry. He's been quiet so far, just putting the occasional word in to their mothers' conversation or listening patiently to one of Louis' sisters while he sips on wine.

When they're called in to dinner, Louis finds himself on the far end of the table from Harry. It's surely no accident, and he's not entirely happy about it, but he is glad to able to give his full attention to Gemma and Anne for a bit. It feels like his old life, at least until someone has to fill in details that another person doesn't know, and he realises afresh how separate their lives have become.

“Jay, it's fine,” he hears Harry say. It breaks into his attention because it's a little louder than Harry's spoken all night, and there's an edge to it.

Louis leans forward and sees his mother squeezing Harry's arm. “You're just so thin. Do they even feed you at that school? Here, eat some more potatoes.”

“Mum, jeez, let him eat what he wants!” Louis exclaims. Harry looks at him, properly looks at him for what feels like the first time tonight, but Louis has no idea how to interpret it.

“I'm just saying he needs to eat more.” Jay ignores Louis' glare and scoops some more mash onto Harry's plate.

Anne frowns at Harry. “Have you lost weight?”

“I don't think so.”

“You do look very thin in the face.” 

Harry looks down – at his plate, maybe, or maybe at his hands resting on the table. When he looks up, he has a pasted-on smile that doesn't reach his eyes. “Well, school food, it's never good, is it? You know, the first week I was there, I'd load up my plate at meals, and then it was all so terrible I never finished it and I felt awful wasting all that food. I suppose I've gotten in the habit of not taking so much so I don't have to throw a lot away.”

Louis thinks he's lying. He shares a look with Gemma and he knows she's thinking the same thing. Anne just chuckles, though, and says, “Well, our food here is certainly better, so eat up.” Harry smiles stiffly and reaches out for another roll while Anne continues, “You should have said. I know you told me not to send you care packages, but for heaven's sake, you ought to let us send you some better food!”

“Of course, you're right,” Harry says. He bites into the roll with a determined look.

Their mums keep pestering him after that, serving up more food or urging him to take another bite like he's a recalcitrant toddler. Louis doesn't understand why he keeps eating. “You know you don't actually have to eat five people's worth of food tonight, right?” Louis says abruptly as Harry attempts to eat a second slice of cake. It's stupid, stupid that this is the first thing he's saying to Harry after an entire year.

Harry frowns at him and eats another bite. “I'm good,” he says shortly.

After dinner, they return to the sitting room for after-dinner drinks and relaxed conversation until the little ones get tired enough to want to go home. “I think I need to change my shirt, spilled something on it,” Harry announces as they leave the dining room. “I'll be back in a minute.”

Louis has a strange feeling about Harry. He's barely sat down and accepted a fresh drink before he excuses himself to the loo. Once free of the sitting room, he detours to where he knows the private rooms are. Harry's London apartments are at Kensington, but they've always kept little rooms at Buckingham Palace in case they decide to kip there after an evening event. Louis reckons that Harry will have gotten Louis' old room. The door is ajar when he gets there. He raps on it lightly with his knuckles and it opens a few more inches. He hears someone retching, and his blood runs cold.

Half of his brain is screaming _do something! Go in there!,_ and half is screaming, _Am I out of my mind? I can't go in there, that's such an invasion of privacy._

He lets himself in – he can't truly imagine doing anything else, even though he knows this is a terrible idea. He finds Harry on his knees in the en suite bathroom, hunched over the toilet.

“Harry, what are you doing?” Louis gasps.

Harry coughs and spits in the toilet before turning his head to glare. “What does it look like?”

“Harry—”

“Leave me alone, Louis. You've been doing it for a year; it can't be that hard.” He turns his head and spits into the toilet bowl again.

That stings, and it's bloody unfair considering who was ignoring who, but Louis certainly knows an attempt to change the subject when he sees one. Fixing what's broken between him and Harry, that's important, but it's not as important as dealing with whatever's happening here.

“Is this why you're so skinny?” Louis demands.

“No,” Harry snaps. “Jesus. Not that it's any of your business.”

Louis wants to accept this, but he remembers when one of his and Gemma's friends was in the throes of an eating disorder. He remembers how much she lied. You never really knew if she'd actually eaten, or if she'd kept it down, unless you'd seen it for yourself.

“This is dangerous, Harry, really seriously dangerous—”

“Shut up, Louis. I haven't been making myself puke at school, okay? Not at all. I just...” Harry sits back on his haunches and sighs, then slowly stands. He flushes the toilet and leans against the counter. He shrugs, not looking at Louis, and turns on the tap. “The food at school is terrible, you know? And I'm busy. I forget about meals sometimes. That's all.” He cups a handful of water, swishes around in his mouth, spits.

Louis raises his eyebrows sceptically. “Right. And you're here throwing up Christmas dinner because...?”

Harry slaps his hands down on the counter. The sharp sound echoes in the tiled bathroom. “Because I ate too much and I got sick! I didn't _want_ to! Didn't you see everyone, just, fretting, nagging at me, calling me too thin, putting more food on my plate? So I ate it, and now they don't have to worry anymore! Okay? So don't mess that up by, by fucking _tattling_ on me.”

Louis stares at him in shock. “So... Harry, you can't just go and eat so much that it makes you physically sick to make other people feel better.”

Harry just scoffs at that, turning his head away.

It feels terrible to have that contempt directed at him so casually, to see that Harry is even capable of that kind of contempt, but he doggedly insists, “Nobody would want this for you. Your family wants you to _be_ okay. Not just to temporarily convince them you're okay.”

Harry shrugs, still not looking at Louis. His shoulders hunch inwards, like he's trying to protect himself, and his voice is so low that it's nearly a whisper. “I am okay. Of course I'm okay. Don't... don't be ridiculous Louis.”

They stand in horrible, tense silence for what feels like ages. It probably is actually several minutes of him looking at Harry and Harry looking at the sink. Louis has no idea what to say. He's panicking a little, because he feels like he's being given a chance – because Harry is still here, that's the really strange thing, that Harry hasn't thrown him out or run away from him. He's being given a chance, and if he says the wrong thing he's going to blow it, and if he says nothing he's also going to blow it.

Harry moves eventually, hand reaching for a tap, and Louis blurts, “Hey, come shopping with me tomorrow.”

Harry actually turns to look at him. His face is blotchy, his eyes are wide, and his lips are so, so red. Louis shouldn't want to kiss him as badly as he does. “Why on Earth would I do that?”

“Because,” Louis says, “You're still furious with me, which means you don't care about making me happy. Which means I'm a great person to hang out with. You can just be yourself.”

Harry laughs incredulously. “That's... you're so weird. That doesn't... it doesn't even make sense?”

Louis shrugs jerkily. “Well, I was gonna go out around nine tomorrow morning. I still need to buy some Christmas presents. And, er, new clothes for Christmas.” He's lying through his teeth. “So, meet me at breakfast before nine if you want to come.”

“Is this seriously your attempt at, like, reconciliation, after all this time?” Harry asks incredulously.

Louis snorts. “No. This is just me inviting you to go shopping tomorrow. That's all. Don't say no right now. Just, you know, think about it.” He slips quickly out of the bathroom before Harry can refuse him.

 

* * *

 

Harry wakes up the next morning feeling confused. Also bloated and greasy, but mostly confused.

He wishes he could talk it over with someone. The problem is that although he'd love to talk to someone, there's no one that he wants to give that knowledge to. In the shower, he imagines would he would say to someone.

_Terry, it was so weird. We ignored each other first, which was fine. Then my family was being really weird to me, and he stood up for me. Why? I don't get why he would. Because he was so awful to me back then. And then, I don't know, maybe he would have apologised but I suppose I didn't let him. So we should both just be mad at each other. Forever? Maybe, I don't know, we're getting sidetracked._

_So he stood up for me, and that was... nice. I appreciated it._

_Then he caught me barfing after dinner and basically accused me of having an eating disorder. That's so rude. How dare he! And it was awful, him seeing me like that, saying those things, looking at me like that. I felt like garbage._

_And then, and then! And then he invites me to go shopping with him?! Like, in what world is that the appropriate follow-up to everything that happened?_

_Am I going to go? No. Of course not. Do you think I should? Well. Maybe. I might. What's the harm? Oh, we might have a terrible row in, like, Selfridge's or something. End up all over the Daily Mail screaming at each other in public. No, I suppose we wouldn't do that. I don't know._

_I've really missed him._

_I'm still so mad at him._

_I think he understands, like, what my life is like, my situation, more than anyone else. That was true from the first day we met. He's just... no one else sees things the way he does. Would I be an idiot to go spend time with him?_

He dresses casually and makes his way downstairs. Louis is in the little room where a continental breakfast is set up, reading a book and sipping tea. When he sees Harry, he practically snaps upright and looks at him with wide eyes. He's surprised, Harry thinks.

Louis smooths a hand down the front of his shirt and clears his throat. “Hey, you made it.”

“Where's everyone else?”

“Mum and the girls had breakfast early and went home. Not sure whether Gemma and Anne have already eaten or not. Tea?”

Harry wordlessly pushes his cup forward so Louis can pour him some tea, and he takes a slice of toast. “So where are we going?”

“Er, good question. I didn't really think you'd show so I didn't exactly make a plan.”

“You...” Harry fights down a smile. “You just made up this shopping trip. Really? Why is that where your mind went?”

Louis shrugs. “Dunno. Reckon I just want to buy some shit I don't need. That's always fun. Let's just go to Bond Street and wander around.”

“Hm. That's close by. Let's just walk there?”

“I suppose we can,” Louis says slowly. “We'd have to walk through Hyde Park. Well, we can wear hats and take security and it ought to be fine.”

“Cool. Fine. Shall we go, then?”

Louis frowns at the table. Harry thinks he's probably noticing the piece of toast on Harry's plate that only has a few nibbles taken off the edge. “Er, yeah, all right.”

“I'm still full from last night,” Harry says defensively.

Louis raises his hands toward Harry. “Hey, I didn't say anything. Let me go talk to the security guys and see who's free to come with us.”

“Fine.”

The park isn't too busy, as it's a cold Thursday morning, the sky heavy and iron-grey overhead. Louis takes them cutting across the grass, “So we don't pass people on the footpath.” The guard trailing them nods approvingly; he sticks to the path and Harry and Louis stay somewhat close to it.

“I walk a lot,” Harry offers into the silence.

“That's good,” Louis says uncertainly.

“At school, I mean. I take a lot of walks around there. It's nice.”

“Ah.”

Harry's fairly sure he's being inane, but Louis isn't teasing him like expects. A few paces later, he says, “I don't get you, like, sticking up for me at dinner, and then yelling at me last night, and then just letting it go now.”

“Well, I don't really get what's going on with you, and I don't know what to say because I don't want to make it worse. You can talk about it if you want, though.”

“There's nothing 'going on' with me. Boarding school is just weird.”

“Well, that's fair,” Louis says evenly. “Just, you know, if you're having real trouble with something, you should talk to someone. Like a friend. Or a therapist. You know they have really strict rules on privacy.”

“Okay, you know what, I really don't appreciate you turning up and immediately telling me I'm messed up and I need to go to therapy.”

Louis laughs.

“Oh, what?” Harry snaps.

“I mean I feel like there's a conversation we should have about stigma and mental health care, but mostly I'm just glad to see a little fire.” Louis claps him on the shoulder. “I like it.”

“I can't tell whether or not you're insulting me right now.”

Louis shrugs and grins. Harry shoves him, and he stumbles, but he just laughs. Harry can't help but laugh, too, as Louis falls back in step beside him. “You're such a wanker.”

Not long after they exit the park, the Alexander McQueen store catches Harry's eye.

“Oh no,” he says, grinning. “You've made a tactical error, mate. You blew it.”

“What?” Louis asks.

Harry points. “Shops are closed, dummy. Of course. Who's buying designer clothes at 9 AM?”

Louis rolls his eyes. “There's people in there setting up for the day, aren't there?”

Harry presses his face close to the glass and squints inside. “Well, yeah, but they're not open.”

“Harry. How long have you been a part of this family? They'll open for us.” He steps up to the door and knocks on it forcefully. Harry tries to grab his arm and stop him, but Louis is quick.

“Stop it, oh my god, don't,” Harry wails. “Oh, no, someone's coming, we gotta go.”

“Don't be ridiculous. Hello, love,” Louis says warmly as a sharp-dressed young woman opens the door. “I know we're a bit early, I don't suppose you'd let us have a look around? We'll stay out of your hair, I promise. Smile for the nice lady, Harry.”

“I'm so sorry about him,” Harry says to the woman. “I really didn't mean to trouble you.”

“Oh, it's – fine,” she says, looking stunned. “Erm, of course you can come in, sir.”

She holds the door open, and Harry reluctantly follows Louis inside. “Well, now we're going to have to buy something,” Harry mutters as the shop girl heads back to her duties. “What if we didn't want to buy something?”

“Chill out, Harry. We'll be quiet, we won't mess up their displays, no harm done even if we don't buy anything, okay? Also, it's McQueen. Of course we'll want to buy something. Ooh, look at this...”

Harry mostly follows Louis around as he flits through the store. Nothing particularly catches Harry's eye, but Louis pounces on a display of scarves and ties with skulls on them. “Oh my god, I want them all,” he whispers gleefully.

A few stores later, Louis is working his way through a rack of trousers when he remarks, “You're being a lot nicer to me than I expected.”

“Did you think I was coming out just for the chance to bother you?” 

Louis shrugs. “Didn't know what to expect really. Just you still hadn't made any moves to talk to me, so I kind of figured you still hated me.”

Harry sighs. “Do you really want to get into this here?”

“I'll—” Louis starts talking, but cuts himself off abruptly. “Whatever, honestly. I would. It's not exactly wise, though.”

“No.”

“Yeah, so. Oh, this shirt.” Louis holds up a shiny gold shirt against Harry's chest. “With your hair and your eyes? Yeah. You should try this one on.”

They each have a few bags in hand by lunch. Louis guides them to a French restaurant with astronomical prices and tiny, tiny plates. It's pretentious as hell, but it's delicious, and for once it's not too much food. Harry finishes a good portion of his lunch, and he steals a few bites of Louis', too.

The first bite is almost an accident. They're talking and it's going okay – a bit awkward, yes, especially when they talk about things that have happened in their year apart from one another, but friendly. Louis' crab salad just looks so appealing that Harry reaches his fork out and snags a bite without thinking about it.

“Well, help yourself,” Louis says dryly as Harry lifts the fork to his mouth.

“I'm sorry.” Harry lowers the utensil to his plate. “Sorry, I wasn't thinking. Do you, er, want it back?”

Louis wrinkles his nose. “No, I don't want it back, it's got your cooties now. I'm taking some of your gratin for that, though.”

As they settle the bill, Louis asks, “Should we get Stephen to call us a car?”

“I suppose...” Harry idly traces patterns in the tabletop. “It's just, we're not really going to talk, are we? We'll get back there, and I'll get to working on Christmas stuff with Anne and Gemma, and you'll go home, and that's that, isn't it.”

“Harry.” Louis pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes for a long moment. “You need to stop acting like you've got no agency here. If you want something, ask for it and make it happen.”

“Wow,” Harry says slowly. “I...” He feels like the bottom has dropped out of his stomach. Shaking his head, he quickly stands and walks out.

Louis catches up to him after he's gone about half a block. “Take your stupid bags, I'm not carrying them for you,” he snaps.

“Fine,” Harry snaps back, jerking them out of Louis' hands. They walk briskly in silence for a few minutes. “Are you not even going to say anything else?”

“Mate, you keep complaining that we're not talking and then you refuse to talk. It's your move as far as I'm concerned.”

Harry feels furious. “I hate you going away for so long and then coming back and being right all the fucking time.”

Louis snorts. “Well, I was wrong about those purple trousers. Those looked bloody awful.”

“True. Thanks for that. Maybe I can hate you after all.”

“Are you saying you don't hate me right now?” Louis looks at him curiously, fringe falling into his eyes.

They're cutting across the grass in the park again, no one anywhere near them, and Harry slows and then stops, turning to look Louis in the eyes. “I... no. I guess. I think I'm still mad at you, though? Like, I understand now, why you did what you did, I think. I mean I've had a lot of time to think about it and, yeah, I sort of get it, so. I can't really hate you anymore. But it... you really hurt me, Louis.” He grimaces. “I hate saying that, but there. I thought you'd be there to help me and then you just left.”

“You want to sit down and talk?” Louis asks gently.

Harry looks down at the grass. It's mostly dry. “Okay.”

Louis folds his legs under him and says, “I'm not sorry for going to America. I learned a lot about myself and it was what I needed. But I am sorry for how I told you. I reckon it all would've gone a lot better if I'd talked to you about it sooner. I should've told you I was thinking about it, and why. Even if I had still gone.”

Harry considers this, and nods slowly. “Why _didn't_ you tell me sooner? Or anyone?”

“Reckon I didn't want to let anyone talk me out of it. I was set on going away for a bit. I suppose... I thought there'd just be arguments about it, but I was going to do it, so why fight about it.”

“But we just all felt... left out. Like we didn't matter to your decisions.” Harry looks down and draws in a deep breath. “I don't really get why you're trying to... Like, are you just trying to patch things up with me because of our families? Because I thought. Back then. I thought we were, like. Starting something. And then you said you just wanted to be friends. And then when you announced you were leaving I felt like I was even less than a friend. Wouldn't you have told a friend that you were thinking about going away to America for almost a year?” He scrubs a hand across his eyes. He can't believe that after all this time he can still hurt so much. 

“Harry, no, it's not like that.” Louis' voice breaks a little. He looks all around them, and then he reaches out and places a hand on Harry's knee, his touch feather-light. “I'm so sorry for making you feel like that. You know I didn't even tell my mum what I was planning? My mum who's literally my best friend and the most important person in my life? No, you were, you are... I want to fix things because I miss you, Harry. God, I loved my time in California, I learned so much, but every day I thought about you. Honestly. I just didn’t think about how anyone else would feel, or the fact that I could hurt you. It was a crazy situation and I messed up. I’m sorry.”

Harry blows out a long, shaky breath. “Okay. Okay. That... helps.”

“Yeah? Thank God.” Louis gives Harry's knee a quick squeeze and pulls his hand back into his own lap.

Harry manages a watery chuckle at that. “Yeah. Okay. So, like, are you freezing?”

“Oh, yeah, a bit, but that's okay. Is there anything else you want to talk about?”

“No... no, not right now, I don't think.” He stands, and they slowly start walking again.

“So do you still have my number blocked?” Louis asks, adjusting his new skull-patterned scarf.

“No.” He'd unblocked it a few months ago. He's not sure he wants Louis to know that yet.

“Hm.” Louis pulls out his phone and taps at the screen. Harry's phone starts vibrating a few moments later, and Louis grins. “Cool.”


	19. Chapter 19

The day before returning to Gordonstoun, Harry is in the chair at his tattoo artist's, feeling spacy and oddly peaceful as the needle buzzes away.

“This is going to be amazing,” Vin says.

“I know,” Harry answers dreamily. After so many hours in this chair, it had better be amazing.

“How was your Christmas?”

“It was... good.”

“You sound surprised.”

“Yeah. Well, you know. It's a bit like having divorced parents, I suppose. Having two different families that want me. And that I want to be with, too. But I feel like we've worked things out well, you know, half my holidays with this side, half with that side... And I know them all a lot better now. I mean Anne's family. Well, I mean my family. You know what I mean.” Harry waves his hand, fingers twirling lazy. It's as if he were drunk right now; he knows his speech is rambling and vague. He also knows that Vin is just getting him talking to distract himself and doesn't really care what he's saying. It's one of his favourite things about the man.

Harry does feel good, and not only because of the tattoo. He mostly had a fun Christmas. He's worlds more comfortable with his new extended family than he was last Christmas, plus he had carved out more time after Christmas to spend with the Horans.

Also, there's a text message from Louis on his phone. It's the third conversation Louis has initiated since their shopping trip. Harry's letting Louis stew for now, but he reckons he'll answer the text after he leaves the tattoo parlour. He could text in the chair and entertain himself that way, but Vin yells at him if he moves around too much while he's trying to hold his phone over his face.

“All done, Your Highness.”

“Oh, spare me,” Harry laughs, sitting up gingerly. “Let me see.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Vin is already holding up a mirror. What Harry sees in it takes his breath away.

The small star on his left side and the bird on his chest, the little tattoos he'd gotten to test himself before committing to a large piece, are familiar to him now after a couple months on his body. No, the fresh ink is what stuns him.

The base of the tree is above his right hip, its Celtic-knot maze of roots spreading halfway across his front and wrapping around his side. In a few places, the pattern deviates and the roots spell out letters: L for Laura, B for Bill, N for Niall, and an E for Éire since an I for Ireland wasn't distinguishable from a line. His roots are written on his skin now, locked up in a knot that can't be untied.

The trunk of the tree extends up his torso. There are little childhood memories half-hidden in the twisting bark: their houses in Mullingar and England, a croissant for his time working at a bakery, a roast for his Mum's cooking, a little train for his Dad's model trains, a guitar for Niall. Twining leaves spread out across his chest and disappear under his arm.

It's mostly black ink with a bit of shading to give it dimension, stark against his pale skin. It's complex and striking.

“It's perfect.”

Vin grins and nods. “See? I'm usually right.”

Harry laughs, remembering their first meeting. Harry had suggested something simple – a line of letters or words down his side, maybe. Vin had rolled his eyes and said, “Yeah, you could get a letter inked for £20 in a million shops in town. That's not really my thing. I'm an artist. I mean, for you I'd do it. But, man, I'm just saying, you're paying a lot for this meeting either way, so why don't we talk about what you really want and come up with an awesome design and then you can go home and think about it.”

That session had ended with Harry's first two tattoos on his skin and the first draft of the tree design on paper. Harry thought he was humouring Vin by agreeing to brainstorm a design, but he adores what they put together. He only wanted it more as the weeks passed until his next appointment.

Now it's finally done. A little part of him is already thinking about his next tattoo. An even smaller part that he doesn't really want to acknowledge is noting how he can see his ribs shift under his skin as he twists around to look at the whole piece. Most of his attention, though, is focused on how spectacular his tattoo is. Caring for a large fresh tattoo on his journey back to Scotland and in the first few days of the term won't be much fun, but he reckons it's entirely worthwhile.

 

* * *

 

The campus is buzzing on the first day of classes. They've collectively realised that there's only one term left until A-levels, and most of the upper sixth students are in a state of near-panic.

As far as Harry's concerned, exams and freedom can't come soon enough. He doesn't want to deal with everyone else's feelings. He wants to get away from them all. Unfortunately, he'd sworn to himself that he'd go to lunch every day this week, so he does.

That turns out to be more difficult than he expected. He feels sluggish and over-full all day, his legs restless as he sits in the refectory instead of walking the footpaths. He's anxious all week that someone is going to say something about it, and of course someone does.

On Friday, Theresa turns to him and says, “This is the first time you've come to lunch for the whole week. Are we allowed to talk about that?”

“I don't see what there is to talk about,” Harry says sharply.

Theresa turns to Abby. “That means no. Right?”

“Yeah, that's a no, pal.” Abby pats her on the shoulder.

“Okay. So did anyone read anything good over the holidays?”

Everyone simply moves on from there, leaving Harry thinking that this wasn't so bad after all. True, by the end of the week he's getting really tired of eating all the time, and he suspects that isn't entirely normal, but he's fine.

Then Sunday happens. He wakes up feeling a bit queasy, but aside from that he doesn't feel ill in the slightest, so he figures he's gotten a poor night's sleep or something. He throws up his breakfast, and that's troubling, but he doesn't feel like he has the flu or anything. He drinks some soothing tea while he works on some essays, and by mid-morning he tries eating an energy bar from the package of snacks that Anne had sent him. That comes right back up too, as does his attempt at a meager lunch. He doesn't even try with dinner.

By evening, he's got a halfway-decent draft of the essay he's writing and a gnawing fear that he's genuinely messed himself up.

 

* * *

 

Louis is a few days into the term at St. Andrews, and should be reading for his American Literature class, but instead, he's practising Shakespeare monologues.

“... _Caesar was ambitious... If it were so, it was a grievous fault, and grievously hath Caesar answer'd it..._ Ugh, how shit am I?”

There's a Shakespeare text on practically every flat surface in Louis' living room, each one bristling with Post-It notes. He texts Gemma desperately: _Antony's speech at Caesar's funeral? Too cliche ???_

 _Too cliche for what? It is a great one..._ Gemma writes back to him.

He's flipping through _Henry VIII_ when his phone rings. He dashes over to it, but instead of seeing Gemma's name on the screen, he sees Harry's.

It's such a shock that he lets it ring twice more before he remembers to actually hit the button to take the call. _Be cool, be casual,_ he thinks. “Hey, H, what's up?”

There's some rustling on the other end. “Not much. Just revising. I'm bored.”

“Thursday night, party time, huh.”

“Yes, absolutely. What're you doing?”

“Trying to pick a Shakespeare monologue,” Louis admits. “Why did I even buy _A Midsummer Night's Dream?_ Everyone knows that one. Ugh.”

“That sounds fun.” Harry's voice is so monotone that Louis has no idea whether he's being sarcastic.

“Well, it's not. There's too many choices. I don't know how I'm going to choose. Stop laughing at me.”

“But you just sound so annoyed at Shakespeare.”

“Why did he have to write so many bloody plays, is what I'd like to know.” 

Harry giggles. Louis wracks his brain, trying to think of anything else to say to amuse Harry and keep him on the line. “Shit, I'm trying to think of something funny to say but all I can think about is Shakespeare.”

“No? Just being studious? Not out there painting St. Andrews red?”

“Well, first of all it's fucking cold out, and also I just got back here on Sunday and haven't had a weekend night yet, so, no.”

“Why are you working so hard the first week of classes? I thought people, like, went out with their friends after the holidays to catch up and keep being lazy.”

“Is that what you've been doing?”

Harry is quiet for a moment. “Well, we're not really allowed to go out like to pubs and stuff.”

“Yeah, but, hanging out with your mates, catching up?” Louis presses.

“I suppose I did some of that last week, yeah.”

“Don't tell me this week you already have so much work that you don't see your friends? Don't you revise and do homework together? I always imagined that would be the best part of boarding school, never having to do your work alone.”

“Really? That's what you thought would be the best part?”

Louis considers this. “Okay, maybe not, but still, it sounds like a perk.”

“I don't really...” Harry sighs. “It took me a long time to make friends here. I finally found some... and I really like them. They're mostly just normal people, you know, I feel like they're like me, we had the same kinds of childhoods and I get on with them really well. When I was telling Anne about them, though... I feel like she's sort of disappointed. I know she wanted me to make friends with, like, influential people. Not my peers, but, you know, _peers_.”

Louis drops his face into his hand and stifles a groan. “Are you telling me you're considering dropping your friends, who you actually like, because you think Anne wants you to find posher friends?”

“I've sort of been avoiding them this week. But that's crazy, right?” Harry asks, sounding a little desperate.

“Yes. That would be really shitty. I mean, unless you really didn't want to be mates with them anyway, but. It doesn't sound like that.”

“I don't want to go back to not having friends. It just feels so wrong to disappoint Anne.”

“I mean, sometimes you've gotta disappoint your parents and do what's best for you. You're not a slave, Harry.”

“You don't understand what it's like. You can just ignore any sense of duty and do whatever you want.”

“What?” Louis laughs incredulously. _“I_ don't understand? Me? I think I understand _very_ well. What are you trying to say?”

“I'm just saying that now you do what you want and you don't care about how it affects anyone else because you don't have to.”

“Is this about me going to America? It's not like I left forever! Studying abroad isn't a crime. I thought you said you understood.”

Harry is silent for a long moment. “I'm sorry. I didn't call just to yell at you. Forget it.”

“No, hold on, I'm not done with this. Do I have to be constantly available to you or constantly at my family's side for you to think I'm not a terrible person?”  

“No! That's not what I meant at all.”

“So can we agree that I, that we can have lives where we travel a bit, or put ourselves first for a bit, and that's okay?” He waits, but Harry doesn't say anything, so he presses on, “What does it take to make that okay? Seriously. Think about it. I'm asking you, it's not a rhetorical question.”

“Er. I guess... I mean, as long as other people are a consideration at least? If everyone is in a good place, and has things under control, and they don't need you there, then... And if you keep in touch. So they know they're still important,” Harry answers slowly.   

“I did try to call you. And text you, and write to you. You shut me out.”

“No, I'm not talking about me. Every time I saw your mum, she was saying that you hardly ever called.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“All right, fair. I could've done better. Believe me, I learned that lesson the hard way. I can learn and do better, you know.”

Harry breathes out slowly. “Yeah.”

“Okay. So you can agree with me that... we can pursue things that matter to us, even if they're not what others would choose for us, and that families have to factor in to those decisions but they're not the only factor. Right?”

“That all sounds logical, so... okay? I feel like you're negotiating a treaty or something.”

“Yeah, I'll have the documents to you to sign by morning,” Louis quips, and it wasn't that funny, but suddenly Harry's laughing and laughing like Louis has told the best joke ever. Louis giggles too, caught up in Harry's amusement.

“Oh, man. You're so weird, Louis,” Harry says with a sigh. “Sorry for... anyway. I guess I should probably go and finish my work.”

“It's okay. Yeah, that's fine, I have stuff to do too.”

“Okay. Thanks, Lou. Talk to you later.”

“Bye, Harry.”

Louis is grateful that he's alone because he's smiling like an idiot. It had been a strange conversation, but what matters is that Harry had called him. They'd really talked.

Now, if he could just figure out what monologue to do for his audition, his life would be all set.

 

* * *

 

Harry wakes up early the next day, grateful that it's not one of the rare mornings where he finds his mysterious roommate in the room. He throws back the covers, stands in front of the mirror, and lets his fingers and eyes trace the lines of his tattoo, finally all healed up.

Once, he'd been Harry Horan, normal lad, popular, quick to make friends and surrounded by them. His life had been simple and he was easily loved and he loved easily.

“I'm still me,” he whispers to the Harry in the mirror. That's what his tattoo means to him. He's still that person. He takes a marker and writes it high on his arm where his sleeves will hide it: _I'm still me. I won't change._

He gathers himself up to face a new day. He's going to sit with his friends today, because they're _his friends,_ and he's going to eat today, because that's what people do, and he's going to trust that it's all going to go fine. He feels more resolved than he has in months.


	20. Chapter 20

Harry hasn't rung in over a week. They've texted a bit, but Harry's last message was several days ago.

Louis is already feeling on edge with the audition coming up. He can't take it. He's been trying to let Harry lead on rekindling their friendship, afraid to push too hard now that Harry's at least speaking to him, and he thought it was going well. They'd been texting nearly every day, just jokes or weird observations, and talking on the phone more than once a week. It's not the same as it was before, but it's something.

After nine days of Harry not calling, though, he finds it hard to remember why letting Harry take the lead was so important, or why he's been fighting so hard against his own drive to always push on things.

Harry answers the phone with a simple, “Louis,” and he sounds pleased.

“You've been ignoring me,” Louis accuses. He hadn't been so sure, but now he knows.

“I have not!”

“I'm not going to stand for being manipulated, Harold.”

“Wasn't manipulating you, I just thought it was weird I was always ringing you,” Harry says. “Why would you call me Harold? You know that's not my full name.”

“Because it's funny. Anyway, okay, well, there, I rang, you've gotten your way now, haven't you? What's been so much more important than paying attention to me?”

“We're on break right now. Half-term. I'm at my parents', Bill and Laura's, I mean. Headed to London... tomorrow, maybe? I've sort of lost track of what day it is.”

“Wait, really? Because I'll be in London the day after tomorrow. We could hang out. If you feel like it.”

“It's the middle of the week.” Harry sounds suspicious, suddenly sharp when his speech had been so lethargic before. “You're skipping your classes again?”

“Er. Yes? What do you mean, again?”

“It used to seem like you took uni so seriously. Is something going on with you?”

“No, I mean, there's nothing wrong,” Louis says quickly. “But...”

“But?”

Louis blows out a long breath. “Can I see you when we're in London? I'd just rather talk to you about it in person if we're going to be in the same place in a couple days anyway.”

“But then I'm going to worry until then.” 

It makes Louis feel all warm inside to think that Harry will worry about him, that he cares enough to worry. “You don't need to worry, I swear. It's good, I'm good.”

“Okay, fine,” Harry answers grudgingly.

Harry ends up coming to visit him at Louis' mum's house in London a few days later. Louis still isn't entirely sure how they'd settled on that. He'd suggested some restaurants they could meet up at, and then a day later he finds himself opening the front door to let Harry inside.

“This is nice,” Harry says, looking curiously around the townhouse. “It's so Victorian on the outside, I thought it would look more, like, frilly on the inside.”

“Nah. You can leave your shoes there. Take your coat?”

Harry barely allows him time to get them tea before he pounces. “So what was it you wouldn't tell me on the phone?”

“Let's go up to my room so my sisters won't bug us.”

“Stop stalling.” Harry pokes him in the side rather aggressively.

“Ow! Don't make me spill the tea! God, have a little patience. Okay, okay, follow me. Here, have a seat or whatever.”

Harry eyes the desk chair and the bed, shrugs, and simply drops down to the floor. He spreads his legs out in front of him, leaning back on his hands. He's wrapped up in tight jeans and a loosely draped long-sleeved shirt. He looks casually handsome, long and lean but not as sharp-edged as he did a few months ago. He looks good. Louis thinks his hair is longer now too, but the curls confuse the issue sometimes.

“Come on, why're you in London?”

Louis sits heavily on the edge of his bed, bouncing a few times. “I just had an audition at RADA.”

“RADA? To study acting?” Harry exclaims, leaning forward. “So you're dropping out of St. Andrews?”

Louis grimaces. “Dropping out is such a loaded term. But yeah, if I get in for acting somewhere.”

“But you're already halfway through your degree.”

Louis shrugs. “Halfway through the program I signed up for because it was the next best thing to what I really wanted. You know I had a chance to really get into drama and theatre in LA and I just love it so much, Harry. It's what I want to do. Why finish a degree I don't really want and waste time that I could spend pursuing what I do want, do you see what I mean?”

“I'm sure you're great, Louis, but what if it doesn't work out? I know the Royal Academy is the best but they hardly take anyone, right?”

“Well, I'm not only applying there,” Louis huffs. “There's LAMDA and Guildhall here too. And even the University of London has a program.”

Harry pulls his knees to his chest, leaning his arms on them. “Those are all in London.”

“Indeed.”

“So you're not applying at places in America?”

“Ah, no. No, there are a lot of great schools for drama in America too, but I feel like, erm, if I want my future to be in the London theatre scene, then London's the best place to study and start making connections.”

“Oh. I see.” Harry ducks his head, not quickly enough to hide a small smile. “Your family will be so pleased to have you back in London.”

“Mum's beyond thrilled, yeah. She was very concerned about me dropping my English degree right up until I told her I was only applying to places in London and suddenly she's totally supportive. I haven't told the girls yet. I don't want to get their hopes up in case it doesn't work out.”

“I suppose that makes sense. Huh. We'll both be starting university at the same time, then.”

“Yeah, I guess that's true.” Louis slides off the edge of the bed. His knee falls to rest against Harry's calf; Harry doesn't move away. “Hey, do you know where you're going to study?”

“Oh, jeez.” Harry runs his fingers through his hair nervously. “I've applied places obviously, and I've gotten one offer but of course it's conditional, and I'm still waiting to hear back from the others so, I mean, who knows at this point.”

“Yeah, I know how that goes. Where are you in so far?”

“Southampton, for history. It was sort of the back-up option so thank God I'm at least in there.”

“History, huh?”

His hands fidgeting with the carpet, Harry admits, “I actually applied for law in a few places. I probably won't get in, though.”

“Law, damn, mate. I hadn't figured you for the type.”

Harry shrugs. “It was interesting, all the legal stuff with my situation. I did a lot of reading... it was, it's very complicated and you can make a difference in, like, how the law is interpreted, if you make a good enough argument. It's fascinating. Like I thought the law was the law and that's it but it's not.”

Louis nods slowly. “I think I follow.”

“I reckon it's going to be hard for me to have a normal job? But maybe I could be, like, a legal scholar behind the scenes or something. Like Gemma doing her writing under a pen name. I don't know. Anne wanted me to go into the military.” Harry snorts.

Louis wiggles his leg, nudging his knee against Harry's calf. “Sounds like you managed to actually say no to her.”

“Yeah, well, I haven't actually given her a firm no quite yet but...” Harry shakes his head. “Can you imagine? Me in the military? That's so... I guess it's, like, tradition? But I can't even imagine. That's so not me.”

“I reckon you don't really need the experience of, you know, being amongst the common people, working hard, getting your hands dirty and all that.”

“That's a good point.”

“Course it is.”

Harry smiles softly at him. Louis smiles back uncertainly. Harry doesn't say anything, just keeps looking at him for so long that Louis starts to feel confused and awkward. “So want to play FIFA?” he blurts.

Later, with a controller in his hand and trash talk on his tongue, he realises that he'd definitely blundered what might have been a tender moment, but it's too late to do anything about it now.

 

* * *

 

Aside from a quick trip to visit Niall, Harry mainly spends half-term in London. His parents visit for a weekend, Gemma stops in for a few days, and he does a great deal of revising in between time spent with family.

Every day, he studies in a different room in the palace. Even now, the thrill of setting up to study in an opulent sitting room or a majestic palace library hasn't entirely worn off. He spends more time than he should setting up elaborate tableaus and photographing them with his DSLR camera. He loves the juxtaposition of his messy papers and worn books against the luxurious setting.

They turn out so well that he posts one to his seldomly-used Twitter account. His friends back at school might give him shit for it, but then he's not even sure if they follow him. Most of them don't use Twitter. He might be safe.

His phone pings a while later with a text message: _So artsy_ , Louis has written.

Harry looks down at his phone uncertainly, fingers hovering over the keyboard. Did Louis like his picture or did he think it was stupid? Harry can't quite tell, and so he can't figure out how to respond.

Before he can figure it out, Louis sends another message: _ur getting a lot of likes but u know u could do better if u were actually in the picture._

“Is this flirting?” Harry whispers at his phone. “Please let this be flirting.”

He types: _Why do I need more likes?_ But that seems strange and cold. He deletes it and writes, _Did you like it?_ Pathetic. No. _Give an inch and they ask for a mile..._ That might actually be too flirty, but he thinks fuck it and hits send.

It takes Louis a while to respond. Harry hopes he's not just sitting there appalled by Harry.

When his phone chimes again, it reads: _A mile?!! u wish mate._

Harry giggles. _I don't though. That would be very inconvenient._

 _True true_ , Louis answers quickly.

Harry spends an inordinate amount of time after that setting up shots and taking pictures of himself with the self-timer on his camera. It's stupid, he thinks, so ridiculous and stupid, but he keeps doing it until he hears footsteps approaching. He quickly flings himself back down into the seat in front of his history book and attempts to look studious.

It's Anne. “How's the revising going?” she asks, surveying the mess on the table.

“It's good,” Harry says, running a hand through his hair. “I think, yeah. Loads to learn but you know.”

“You have a good head start,” she says, nodding. “Can you spare a minute? Come sit with me, won't you?”

“Oh. I – sure, yeah.” It's not as if he'd actually been revising, so she isn't actually interrupting. Still, he feels a prick of irritation as he follows he over to a small sofa.

“How are you doing?” she asks, her face serious, eyes locked on to his.

“Uh? I'm good?”

“Are you? You seem... better than at Christmas,” Anne says carefully, touching his face with hesitant fingertips. “You seem more focused. Not so... I don't know. Volatile. You look better.”

Harry tries not to grimace. God, he wishes she wouldn't do this. He doesn't think he looks better; he thinks he looks puffy and weird. He does feel better  in some ways, though. He's not so angry; everything in his life seems more manageable this term. He does have a horrified suspicion that that has to do with eating three square meals a day, but he wishes that she wouldn't point that out. “Mum, please don't.”

Anne draws in a quick, sharp breath. “That's – that's unkind of you, Harry.”

“What?” he asks, confused.

“Trying to distract me by calling me Mum?”

“Wait, I did? Huh. I guess I did? Sorry. What you were saying was just so, er, mum-like. It just slipped out, sorry.”

“Oh, damn it,” she says, putting a hand over her eyes. It's one of the few times Harry has heard her swear. “Don't apologise. All I _want_ is for you to call me Mum. I just want you to mean it.”

Harry laughs nervously. “Well. Er. I reckon I did?”

She slowly drops her hand and looks at him through watery eyes. “I didn't realise I needed to annoy you into seeing me as your mother.”

Harry lets out a strange honk of a laugh that immediately sets Anne off laughing, too. It's such an odd thing to say, so very Gemma, so very _him,_ too. Laughing on the sofa together over increasingly absurd ways for Anne to pester him, it might be the most unguarded moment they've ever had.

 

* * *

 

Louis finds a truly baffling picture in his text messages a few days later.

It's a black-and-white picture of one of the second storey sitting rooms. On the left side of the picture, there's a book-strewn table. A textbook is leaning on a cushion of the sofa that's just visible on the right side. Right in the middle of the image is a large window, curtains pushed to the side. There's a man in front of it, arms at his side, a slender book dangling from his fingers.

The man is mostly in silhouette, backlit by the window. His shirt is loose and thin, light shining through it so that the outline of his torso underneath it is obvious. With those curls and those shoulders, it has to be Harry.

The picture is waiting for him when he wakes up in the morning. He didn't see it when it arrived, apparently because it was sent after midnight and he had already been asleep. He wonders if the picture is from a few days ago when he'd been making fun of Harry's tweet. That would mean that Harry has been sitting on this, debating whether to send it, ever since then.

And it isn't public. He even checks Harry's social media to be sure: this is just for him.

His initial kneejerk reaction is to make mock of it. _Did you take that just for me? Bit embarrassing that... How long did you spend setting up that shot? Oh, how artsy. How pretentious, you're only revising._

He knows better. Thank God, he's not a panicky 14 year old to react like that. He knows that's the quickest way to make sure he never sees anything like this again. He sighs out, rolls his shoulders like he's got something to limber up for – maybe for the effort it takes to hold himself back.

The question of how best to respond is daunting. Instead of dealing with it, he just goes to his morning lecture. He rings Liam afterward, and after the requisite small talk, he says, “So, you probably get a lot of action now that you're a famous pop star.”

Liam laughs. “Er, I'm not that famous, but, er, yeah, I do okay these days.”

“So let's say someone you fancy sends you a picture of them. How do you respond?”

“Well. What kind of picture? Sexy? Funny? Cute?”

Louis shrugs. “I don't know. Artsy.”

“Does that mean naked?”

“No! Not at all! Just, like. I don't know. I guess it's a little sexy, but, like, it seems kind of incidental. Like it's not really the point. Maybe it's just me.”

“Er...” Louis can practically see the scrunched-up, confused look on Liam's face. “Mate, that sounds weird. I don't know if she's even flirting with you.”

“Okay, don't, don't analyse it too much, just. Okay, if it was you, what would you say to get 'em to be flirting with you, you see what I mean?”

“Most girls who text me are pretty obvious, man. I just respond, like, oh looking good, or hey sexy, or, looks like fun, wish I was there.”

“Oh.” Louis sighs, running a hand over his face. “What was I thinking? Jesus, please tell me you haven't texted a girl with, like, _what you would you do if I was there_ and a winking face.”

Liam is silent for a moment. “I don't know, probably not exactly that.”

“Ugh. Okay, whatever. Talk through this with me. If he's not actually flirting, I don't want to respond too positively and come on too strong, right? But also I feel like I should be a little positive, like I want this to happen again? So I don't know.”

“Is she, er, sorry, he, some kind of artist? You said it was artsy? You could compliment the picture? Like, the composition of picture or whatever, not the person in it.”

“Huh. Maybe.”

He writes and deletes have a dozen captions. It's not until well after lunch that he answers, and all he writes back is, _lovely x_.


	21. Chapter 21

“What kind of pictures would you send a boy if you wanted him to like you?” Harry asks, chin in his hand as he sits at the lunch table.

“Nudes?” Theresa suggests.

“Harry can't send nudes,” Abby interjects quickly.

“Who says I can't?” Harry bristles.

“Everyone out there trying to hack your phone,” Abby says.

“Wait, who's trying to hack my phone?”

“I don't know. Random arseholes, The Sun, the Russians, who knows, but there's probably someone.”

“Okay, okay. So no nudes. What else?”

Abby sighs. “You know I got together with Esteban because we had classes together, right? I don't think I ever sent him a picture. And Terry thinks nudes are the way to a lad's heart apparently, which seems extreme to me. So. We're useless, basically.”

With no other advice to go on, he sends Louis whatever random pictures appeal to him. Mostly the pictures don't even have him in them; when they do, often it's just his hands or his shoes. Louis always responds eventually, but it's always so simple: _lovely, nice day, cool picture, how did you make it look like that, out hiking?_ Harry doesn't know what to make of it.

Harry doesn't think he's being treated like any other friend, and yet Louis hasn't given him any indication that he wants, or that he ever wanted, to be more than friends. It's confusing.

At least school leaves him little time to think about Louis. Every week seems to intensify: more work, more to learn, larger projects. The stakes feel higher than ever now, knowing that if he gets in to Imperial College, he can go to university in London, with Louis.

It's so stupid to work this hard to be together with a boy who doesn't even like him like that.

On the other hand, any motivation that might push him to great A-levels and get him into one of the world's best universities is probably okay.

 

* * *

 

Harry wakes up one night to a pounding on his door.

Blearily, he looks at his phone for the time. It's barely after 10; apparently he'd fallen asleep on top of his blankets, still mostly dressed, books by his head. He stumbles to the door, frowning in groggy puzzlement when he opens it. It's Brian, another boy in the coastguard service.

“Were you asleep?” Brian asks, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah. What's up?”

“We've got a search-and-rescue. Dress warm and meet in the common room in ten.”

The words _search-and-rescue_ are a shock to the system. He's instantly awake and on edge. He gets to the common room in five minutes flat and sits there jiggling his leg until they finally get briefed.

He knew this was something they did in the coastguard service, and not only on the water – they could get tapped to help with land searches, too. He's been to trainings for it but doubted it would really happen. Now he's preparing himself for a night-long effort in the hopes of averting a parent's worst nightmare.

“She's three years old, named Fiona,” the police officer says, handing around pictures. “Her parents say the father went out to walk the dog before bed and didn't latch the door. Fiona must have snuck out at that time. It's a cold night. We need to find her in the next few hours. She can't have gone far but she could be hiding if she's found some shelter or gotten tired. Pair up and we'll give you your assignments for where to start searching...”

It's not raining, at least, but it is cold with a piercing breeze. Harry is warm enough, dressed in layers of practical wool and technical fibers, but somewhere out here is a little girl with only her pyjamas. The thought makes it hard not to rush. He has to remind himself over and over again to remember his training and to move slowly and methodically.

His partner is a short, dark-skinned girl he's never met before because she's only in year ten. They search for over an hour before Harry unwinds enough to talk to her. “Have you done this before?” Harry asks, sweeping the light of his torch across the field.

“Three times,” she says in a soft voice. “They all turned out okay.”

“Yeah?” _God, please let this one, too,_ he thinks. “Hey, what's that?”

“What's what?”

“Probably just another random piece of paper...” He approaches slowly and stoops down.

It's not another stray receipt or tissue. It's a tiny white sock.

He stands slowly, holding the sock. It's damp and muddy. “What do you think?” he asks.

Trisha frowns, looking at it. “It's definitely dirty, but it doesn't look like it's been out for a very long time,” she says after a moment. “Let's call it in.”

They mark the spot, and soon enough the search resumes, teams shifting around based on the new clue. They're all invigorated with fresh hope, but it wanes as the hours pass. Harry finds himself yawning and guiltily wondering when they'll call in the next shift and relieve the first searchers. He's just so tired.

It's nearly four in the morning when they hear a shrill whistle in the pattern that summons them back to the command center, followed shortly by text messages lighting up their phones. “God, I hope it's good news,” Harry whispers to himself as they turn back, trudging through the damp fields.

The so-called command center is nothing impressive: a few pop-up shelters, a couple vans, and an ambulance all over the family's front garden. Harry is preparing himself for the worst, but then his partner gasps. “Harry, they found her!”

He'd been staring at the ground, afraid of what he'd find, but now he looks up. The ambulance is a good distance away, but he can see the back doors open, a tiny blanket-wrapped child sitting on the gurney with her parents and emergency responders fussing around.

“Oh my god.” He presses his hands to his mouth and chokes back a sudden sob. “Oh, thank God.”

Maybe it's just the exhaustion, but he finds himself crying, shattered and relieved. He excuses himself and his partner wanders off, but he finds some other people he knows at the canteen tent after he's collected himself. They sip over-brewed tea out of paper cups, half-listening as the search team commander congratulates them all on a job well done.

The next few days are brutal. He only gets a few hours of sleep before his classes. At lunch, all he wants is to fall asleep on the table. Abby shakes him, laughing and saying, “I know, I've been there, but you probably want to stay awake long enough to finish your lunch, Harry.”

“I really don't,” Harry moans, not moving.

“At least we've got it better than those firefighters in Australia,” Theresa says through a yawn: she'd been woken up to start the second shift just before the search had concluded. “Working nonstop. I reckon they don’t get lunch.”

“Why are you talking Australia?” Abby asks.

“There's a huge bushfire, this massive firestorm, in the outback right now.  They've got people working around the clock trying to save everyone. There's only one road out and they don't know if they're going to be able to evacuate them. It's awful.”

“Sounds terrible,” Harry agrees sleepily and drops his head to the table. He has weird half-dreams about horrible fires as he dozes while Theresa continues talking.

He spends the next two days in a sleepy haze, barely able to finish his work before he's falling asleep at his desk or halfway into bed with his shoes still on. It all feels worth it, though, every time he thinks about that precious little girl reunited with her family. He hadn't found her himself, but he likes to think that he helped. He remembers what they were told in training: _Every searcher helps. Everyone contributes. It's about finding the person, not getting glory or credit._ And that night after the search: _You should all be proud of yourselves._

It was so worth being a part of, even if it does take several days before he feels entirely restored.

Plus, after a few days of being somewhat absent from the world outside of his little school bubble, he gets a rather adorable text from Louis.

_Haven't heard from you in a bit!! U ok? Don't ignore meeee._

It's followed quickly by a picture: Louis, hair swept softly to the side, pouting at the camera.

A picture. A picture! Harry wants to throw his window open and scream it out at the world: _he finally sent me a picture back!_ He doesn't do that, but he does jump up from his desk chair and do a happy twirl in his room before settling back down.  

“Okay, okay,” he whispers to himself. “Don't overthink it.” He spends a few minutes fussing with his hair before snapping a picture of his own pouting face and sending it back. _Awww poor Louis_ , he writes back. _Sorry, crazy times here, I'm shattered. Call me later and I'll tell you all about it._

 

* * *

 

He's in at LAMDA.

Louis is actually shaking as he holds the letter. He hasn't heard back from the other schools yet, but he's been accepted to LAMDA.

The first thing he does is call his mum, obviously. “I got into LAMDA, Mum! Can you believe it? Even if I don't get in anywhere else, Mum, this is, it's going to happen.”

“Oh, boo, I'm so proud of you! How wonderful!”

“I'm so happy.” He closes his eyes and smiles. “I'm gonna be an actor, Mum.”

“I'm so pleased for you, honey. And you're going to be back in London!”

“One way or another,” he says happily. “Okay, I should call some more people. I've got to let Gemma know.”

“Don't you want to tell your sisters yourself?”

“Oh, yeah, all right, go ahead and put them on.”

It takes a while to get through talking with his sisters, then Gemma, Liam, and a few other friends.

Finally, he rings Harry.

Well, he tries, anyway. It goes to voicemail.

Harry texts him the next morning: _Hung over in Niall's flat probably dying. Sorry I missed your call x._

Louis isn't in class, so he calls right away. Harry immediately moans, “Please don't talk too loud.”

“Are you on holiday?”

“Yeah, between terms,” Harry mumbles. “I came to visit Niall. Awful idea. I hate him. Don't ever let Niall buy you shots.”

“I'll keep that in mind,” Louis answers, not even trying to keep the amusement out of his voice. “Well, I have news. Do you want to hear it?”

“Okay.”

Louis says sternly, “Only if you can summon some enthusiasm. It's great news and I expect an appropriate response. Otherwise I'll have to just tell you later.”

Harry groans. “Noooo, tell me now. Give me a reason to keep living.”

Louis laughs. “I'm sure this will. Okay. I've been accepted into LAMDA!”

“Louis! Really? No way! Congratulations!” He really does sound happy, his voice suddenly louder and clearer. “That's amazing.”

“Yeah, well, I mean I still hope I'll get into RADA, and I don't know about Guildhall yet either, but yeah, you know, either way, right. I'm definitely moving to London and studying drama. So. Yeah, feels pretty brilliant.”

“You're brilliant, you're gonna get in everywhere,” Harry says warmly. “Wow. That's so cool. So RADA is still on the table?”

“Yeah, I've got another audition next week. Are you going to be in London?” Louis asks hopefully.

“For, like, two days. Next Tuesday and Wednesday.”

“Oh. I'm not coming down until Friday. Only two days?”

“Yeah, I kind of got an opportunity to work on the coastguard boat? Everyone's off on holiday and they had openings so...”

Louis takes this in for a moment. “You're telling me you're missing out on your holidays so you can hang out on a boat in Scotland. You could go to Jamaica or something but instead you're going to freeze your arse off out at sea.”

“Yeah.” Harry chuckles and then mutters, “Ow, my head.”

“Maybe you could come down to St. Andrews for a few days,” Louis suggests. Harry doesn't respond right away, and Louis quickly rushes in, “Sorry, that's a weird idea I guess, I don't know, just figured you'll be getting sick of the school and all that, but I don't know why you'd want to really, it's not like it's London or something.”

“No,” Harry says slowly, “It's just, I'm basically on call every day even when I'm not on the boat, so. Like, I can't really go far.”

“Oh. I see.”

Harry sighs; Louis hears rustling through the phone. “You could come visit me, if you wanted,” he says quietly.

“Oh! Huh. Well, yeah, I suppose I could. I guess I thought you couldn't have visitors.”

“It's more limited during the term but during a holiday, sure. Just you aren't allowed to stay over for the night. I mean not that you'd – but I can't offer a place to kip is what I mean.”

“Oh, yeah. That's fine. I can get a hotel or just go back to St. Andrews.”

“That'd mean driving like six hours in a day.”

Louis shrugs, even though Harry can't see him. “I like driving.”

Harry laughs quietly. “Okay, if you say so.”

 

* * *

 

The next few weeks shouldn't be so stressful for Louis, considering how lazy he can be about his courses for a program he now knows he's never going to finish. Still, the anxiety of auditions and waiting for decisions hangs over him. There's also the fact that he misses Harry. He keeps scrolling through the pictures Harry has sent him, sighing over Harry's talent and beauty. It's a bit sad.

It's so hard to tell if Harry will ever want him again. They've been friendly again for a few months now, but he still senses a distance between them. Maybe it's the physical distance and things could be different if they both ended up studying in London. Maybe, though, maybe Harry is entirely over him, or maybe Harry still doesn't trust him. He hopes that driving up to Gordonstoun will show that he's willing to make an effort.

He's excited for days beforehand, even though they barely have any plans beyond “hanging out.” Before he leaves that morning, he gets a text from Harry: _Great news!!! Can't wait to tell you!_ Louis hopes desperately that it's a uni acceptance. He's surely getting ahead of himself, but he's absolutely giddy as he leaves St. Andrews. He sings happily along to all his favourite songs on the drive up, his car gliding smoothly through the wet green countryside. He finds the school easily and sets off on foot to find Harry's boarding house, texting to let him know.

He bounds up to the door with a big grin, smiling even wider when it opens and he sees Harry there.

Harry isn't smiling. He barely even looks at Louis, just curtly says, “Hey, come on in, follow me.” He turns away, shoulders stiff, and all Louis can do is follow.

“What's going on? I thought you had good news?”

Harry lets out a heavy sigh. “I'm so – ugh. Yeah, and then I got bad news. Sorry, I'm. Well, the good news is I'm in at Imperial and that's really amazing–”

“Harry, that's fantastic!” Louis actually bounces as he walks. London, they're both going to be in London next year, _yes._

“Yeah, but I'm so mad right now. So you know about the Order of Australia, it's like their government's highest award?”

“Ah, sure.”

“So they're – yeah, this way.” Harry leads Louis to a staircase and continues talking. “I'm sorry, I should be giving you a tour, but I can't–”

“It's fine, just tell me what's up. I'm so confused right now.”

“Okay, so they've asked someone from our family to come down for the Order of Australia investiture, which I guess is really unusual, but, like, you heard about the fires last month, right?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Here, this is my room. Yeah, so there's all these pilots that risked their lives evacuating people, and some of them died, and the firefighters and everything. Like, there's so many people getting the award, way more than usual, they had to push the event back and make it loads bigger, and they said like an unprecedented level of heroism, blah blah, sorry, I don't mean to dismiss it really, but they're telling me I have to fly to Australia for this thing, just a few weeks before A-levels start!” Harry is pacing the room, coiled tight with tension, waving his hands and speaking terribly fast. “Sorry, they being, you know, Anne and the palace and everything. Not the Australian government. But, like, they act like my A-levels are the most important thing in the world, that's why I'm at this fucking school and not at uni already, right until something else comes up, and then who cares!”

“So say you can't go,” Louis says slowly.

Harry shakes his head jerkily. “Gemma and Mother both have other commitments but everyone's acting like it's the end of the world if none of us go. And I mean, Jesus, the things these people went through, I mean, they deserve to have one of us there to shake their hands if that makes them happy. No, I can do it, I'm... but see, it gets worse. They say I have to bring a date, which is stupid, why would I _have_ to have a date, and then, then, there's this singer who keeps saying she fancies me apparently and they've arranged for her to be my date. I can't fucking believe that they've arranged this without even asking me and...” He sputters, gesturing wildly. “A _woman,_ God. I mean I'm sure she's great but... I feel, I feel so... disrespected.”

Louis stares. “But you're _out.”_

“I know, that's what blows my mind.” Harry shakes his head, pacing restlessly. “Luke said, considering I haven't publicly dated anyone this whole time, it was an opportunity to play with my image, keep people guessing. Make the homophobes back off for a bit.”

He sounds so sad. Louis hates it. “Is that what you want?”

“No,” Harry says emphatically. “But I feel so trapped. They've got it all figured out, and I'm supposed to just go along, and I hate it. I hate that they've set me up with a woman and every time I try to just say no they never let me.”

“I've never seen you this upset over the things Anne's asked you to do.” 

“Well, I.” Harry presses his hands to his face and groans. “I know, you're right, I don't know why I'm so angry suddenly. It's like. I've just had enough. It feels like, it feels like they're going back on all these things they've told me. Like smashing my A-levels is the most important thing until something else comes up. Or me being out is fine until a better idea comes along. Am I just being ridiculous? Do you think I'm making too big a deal out of this?”

“No, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that.” Louis chews on his lip, watching Harry pace the room like a caged tiger. He seems so much stronger than when they met a year and a half ago, full of frustrated energy. “Take me instead.”

Harry stops abruptly. After a beat, he spins to face Louis. “What do you mean?”

“Take me as your date.” Louis grins suddenly. “It's perfect. You have to bring a date? Fine. You're out, so they can't tell you you can't bring a man. It's Australia, they'll be able to cope with it.”

Harry stares. He clasps his hands in front him, knuckles white. “You realise you'd have to fly to Australia, and spend a few days there, and go to this big fancy ball and be photographed and everything. Back in the public eye.”

“Yep. Offer stands. What do you think?”

Harry says slowly, “They'll hate it. At the palace. Well, Anne'll just look disappointed. But Luke’s going to be so pissed that he went through the trouble of arranging this girl for me and I said no.”

“Hmm. What a pity,” Louis says brightly.

Harry laughs, looking startled but delighted.

“They'll be mad, but they're not going to say no. They said you need a date, you provide a date, case closed. You present it like that, they can't exactly tell you no.” Louis shrugs, grinning. “It's your choice. Come on. Take me instead. They'll get over it and I guarantee I'll be way more fun.”

Harry smiles slowly. He looks a bit manic, his hair a tangled bird's nest on top of his head, his cheeks flushed. Louis' heart soars with happiness when Harry says, “Okay. Yeah. Let's do it.”


	22. Chapter 22

Heathrow is always daunting. An immense labyrinth, it would be confusing empty, but add in thousands of harried travellers and it's overwhelming.

It probably wasn't smart of Harry to attempt to travel like a normal person. He could have airline staff whisking him through employee-only passages or a team of assistants diligently ushering him through the crowded hallways. He likes the feeling of self-sufficiency, though, as he makes his own way through the airport.

When he finally reaches the first class lounge, Louis is already there, sprawled across a large armchair with a drink in one hand and his phone in the other. He should look out of place, dressed in comfortable athletic clothing. He sits like he owns the place, though, legs spread, totally at ease. It's maybe a little hot. His messy side-swept hair and his perfectly-lit cheekbones don't hurt that impression, either.

Louis looks good. Harry can admit that to himself. Louis looks great, actually, and he's about to fly to Australia with Harry and be his date to a major event. It's still a bit hard to believe. A tiny part of him had wondered if Louis would come through, but here he is.

Harry drops his bag onto the chair next to Louis, and Louis looks up at him with a startled grin. “Well, that was a thump. What've you got in there, rocks?”

“Books and stuff,” Harry says, dropping down to the edge of the seat.

“You are not going to revise on this flight,” Louis says flatly.

“It's more than twenty hours. Why not revise? There's so much time to kill. I'll sleep, and watch a bunch of movies, and revise, and we still won't be there yet.”

Louis rolls his eyes and gestures loosely with his hand. “I can't imagine being able to focus enough to revise. But, whatever, lie to yourself if you must. Go get yourself a drink or something.”

“What've you got there?”

“Gin and tonic. It's pretty good. All top-shelf stuff in here, you know.”

“I wasn't going to drink. I'll get dehydrated.”

Louis closes his eyes and sighs heavily. “What am I going to have to do to convince you to treat this at least a little bit like a vacation?”

“It's not a vacation.”

“Oh, boy.” Louis rubs his forehead. “Listen, you invited me along, therefore there is going to be some fun. That we will have. That's it. No, you can't argue, I've told you facts and that's just how it is, okay.”

Harry shakes his head slowly. While he's trying to come up with an argument, Louis flags down a waiter and orders another drink, then pulls two slim folders out of one of his bags. “Here, take a look.”

Harry laughs. _“Louis' Totally Brilliant Itinerary?_ Why is this embossed?”

“I had Luke make it up. He loves his embossing machine. I mean, I made the plan, but Luke made it look nice.”

“This is so detailed,” Harry murmurs, scanning the first page. “I figured you for more of the spontaneous sort of traveller, you know, like, just showing up and doing whatever.”

“Oh, I am, but travelling with the prince requires a bit more planning. Security shit. You know.”

Harry does know. They always want to know where he is, every second of the day. “I'd imagined just relaxing and getting over the jet lag for the first few days. Staying in a lot and revising.”

“No, no, no, Harry. Think about it. You're gonna stay awake and get on an Australian schedule lying around in a hotel room? No, you're gonna fall asleep at weird times and be all messed up. Getting out and staying active, that's the key. Hence, the brilliant itinerary.”

Harry gasps. “A hot air balloon flight? Oh my god, koalas?!”

“Told you it was brilliant.” Louis taps the paper. “The ones with the star are official things where you'll need to clean up for the cameras and make nice and all that.”

“Like people aren't going to take pictures of us wherever we go anyway?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, okay.”

Harry keeps poring over the plan while Louis goes to the loo. He's a bit stunned. Louis put so much thought into this. Harry really had imagined he would hole up in the hotel and read while Louis was out having fun. He does worry a bit how little time there is in here for him to work, but it's also so wonderful that Louis is insisting on dragging him along to all of this. It's rather like Louis actually wants to spend time with him.

Hopefully that really is the case, considering they're about to spend twenty hours on an airplane together.

 

* * *

 

“I can't believe you set all this up for me,” Harry says wonderingly.

He's leaning against the side of the hot air balloon's basket and gazing out at the Blue Mountains just west of Sydney. It's not long after dawn. Louis' body is insisting that lying down on the floor of the balloon for a little nap would be brilliant. He's trying to ignore it because he wants to pay attention what's in front of him: the breathtaking Australian landscape and Harry with his sparkling eyes and wind-tossed curls.

“That's like the twentieth time you said that,” Louis chuckles.

“Well. So what.”

“So – you're welcome, but I'm having fun too, you know. You don't have to keep thanking me. It's not like I arranged anything I didn't want to do.”

“Oh, yeah, of course.” Harry looks to the side, away from Louis. “Sorry, I was being really self-centred, wasn't I.”

“Oh, no, that's – that's not what I meant. I, erm, I'm really glad you like the stuff I planned, I was a bit nervous. But, like, you realise that you got me a free trip to Australia, right? I came 'cause I knew it'd be fun to come _with_ you.”

“Hmm.” Harry glances over at him, an unreadable expression on his face. “You've never been here before, huh?”

“No. Gemma and Anne came over here, hm, probably about ten years ago. They were keeping me out of the public eye then, so, you know, good for leading a normal life, or semi-normal anyway, but obviously I couldn't go with them. I was so jealous. I wanted to see kangaroos and deadly snakes.”

“Deadly snakes, huh.” Harry glances over at the hot air balloon operator, a gruff middle-aged Australian. “Are there really that many deadly snakes here?”

“Oh, yeah,” the man answers casually. “But you really gotta watch out for the spiders. They're sneaky.”

“Spiders are cool,” Louis says.

Harry laughs. “Probably not if you're, like, losing a limb because one bit you.”

“That doesn't happen.”

“Nah, usually you'll either die or get better,” the Australian agrees.

“Comforting,” Harry mutters.

It's still early when their sunrise balloon flight lands. Harry yawns as their security ushers them back to the car and asks, “Can we go back to bed?”

“I think we should go to the beach,” Louis says.

“What?”

“It's already warming up, I'm pretty sure we haven't been spotted yet so people won't be on the lookout for us, and it's early on a weekday so there won't be that many people on the beach. Please, Harry, it'll be so nice. They wouldn't let me book us surfing lessons but we can at least stop by the beach, right?”

“Okay, fine, yeah, let's try.” All Harry wants to do is sleep, but Louis seems to want this so badly. He has to admit that the beach wouldn't be the worst thing. His skin is already prickling with sweat as the sun hits him. They've been told it's an unusually warm day, but then any autumn Sydney day was probably going to seem hot in comparison to the English spring.

They stop by the hotel to change and then head to a less popular strip of beach. In his jet-lagged state, Harry doesn't realise he's made a tactical error until the moment when Louis says, “Well, ready to get in the water?” and strips off his shirt.

“Uhhh. Yeah, let's go,” Harry agrees slowly and starts walking.

Louis falls into step beside him and tugs on the hem of Harry's shirt. “Forgetting something?”

Harry swats Louis' hand away gently. “No.”

“You're going into the ocean with your shirt on?” Louis asks. “There's hardly anyone around, no need to be shy. Are you afraid of getting papped shirtless or something?”

“No...” Harry rubs his eyes. “Wait, yes, that's totally it.”

“Liar. What're you hiding?” Louis draws in a quick breath. “Oh, shit, I'm sorry, is this about that whole, er, thing, last term? Are you all, like, self-conscious now? Shit, I'm sorry, I shouldn't be harping on this.”

“What? No!” Harry snaps, mortified. A little part of him wonders if Louis thinks he has something to be self-conscious about – if he looks worse these days – but mostly he's embarrassed that Louis is thinking about that at all. He looks around quickly, and sees no one around them. “Fuck, it's not – look.”

Harry quickly lifts up the corner of his shirt to show a flash of inked-up skin.

Louis actually stumbles. “Holy shit, you – how – er, what – ah, what the fuck, Harry.”

He laughs, letting the shirt fall back into place. “Come again?”

“Oh, shut up. I can't believe you have a secret tattoo! My whole image of you is changing, man. Come on, let us see it.”

“No!”

“That's unfair.” As they wade into the surf, he kicks a little spray of seawater at Harry. “That's so mean to just show me a glimpse.”

“Well, I'm sure not going to show you the rest here. Someone could see.”

“So somewhere else then! Where? When? Will you show me back at the hotel? Harryyy, come on.”

Harry shoves him, both of them giggling, into the oncoming wave.

 

* * *

 

Louis knocks on the door to Harry's suite and yells, “It's me!”

Someone lets him in promptly, and Louis is hard-pressed not to laugh at the chaos. An exasperated make-up artist is scolding Harry to stop biting his lips. “But I'm nervous,” Harry pouts.

“It's going to be fine, H, take it easy,” Louis announces, picking his way through the room littered with clothing and various mysterious supplies. He wants a minute to admire the view out Harry's windows overlooking Sydney Harbour and the famous opera hall.

“Get back here, we need to do your face too!” Lou, their main stylist, calls.

Louis sighs and reluctantly makes his way back to her chaotic station in the lounge. “Looking good, Haz. All right, ladies, do your worst.”

“Do I? Oh, God, I'm nervous. This isn't going to be nearly as easy as posing for pictures with cute koalas, is it.”

“On the upside, much less risk of getting chlamydia, so keep that in mind,” Louis points out.

Harry does look fantastic. His curls are glossy and bouncy. The make-up is minimal, just smoothing out his skin and subtly accentuating his lips and eyes. His suit is a dark, almost-purple shade of blue, perfectly tailored to make his shoulders look broad, his legs long and lean. Louis would love to tear it off him, and not just to see that tattoo that's been haunting him ever since he caught a little glimpse.

That's a thought to put aside for later, though. They all keep trying to soothe Harry, but to little effect. Even in the car, he's restless and fidgeting, biting his nails until Louis pulls his hands away.

“Why so nervous, Haz? You smashed it in front of crowds on X Factor.”

“Yeah, but here there's going to be a lot of one-on-one, you know? It's different.”

Louis shrugs. “So you'll be your usual charming self.”

“Charming?” Harry laughs hollowly. “You know I have, like, three real friends at school, right?”

Louis looks at him for a long moment, trying to figure out what's really going through his head. Slowly, Louis asks, “But that's not normal for you, is it? Didn't you have loads of friends at your old school?”

“Well... I suppose I did. Right.” Harry presses a hand to his side and closes his eyes with a sigh.

“Right. No offence, but I get the sense that you haven't been too thrilled to be at that school. So.” Louis shrugs. “But you're happy to be here, aren't you? Australian holiday? Meeting people who did great things and helped others? You said how you thought they all deserved a handshake from you if that's what they wanted. They're going to be so excited to see you, you know. It'll be really fun.”

“Yeah. No, you're right.” Harry smooths his hand down his side and turns his head to frown thoughtfully at Louis. “It's funny... I got my tattoos to remind me of who I used to be, who I am—”

“There's more than one?!” 

Harry quirks a little smile and says, “–and it's funny that you can do that, too, when you didn't even know me before.”

“Well, I did meet you before dropping the truth bomb on you, so, I sorta did.”

“I'm not sure that counts.”

“It counts 'cause I say it does. So tell me more about these tattoos. When did you get them? Can I see them now? We've got some time before we arrive.”

Harry giggles. “Oh my god, Louis, I'm not going to roll out of the car half-undressed because you wanted to see my tattoos, no!”

Louis pouts, but not for long. He was lying – well, guessing – when he said they had time. Actually, they're about to arrive.

Harry whips around to him suddenly. “Wait, do we hold hands or what?”

Louis is distracted, watching as they slide closer to the crowds and cameras. “Huh?”

“'Cause you're my date. How, like, date-like do we act?”

Louis shrugs. “I dunno. Would you have held hands with what's-her-name?”

“Ugh, no. But I don't like her, I don't even know her.”

Louis lets that interesting implication hang in the air for a moment. “I don't know what to tell you. Just do what feels right. I'm good with whatever.” He wishes he understood what Harry's intense facial expression means, but the other man doesn't give him any clues. Harry just nods and starts adjusting his clothes, preparing himself for their moment.

As soon as Harry exits the car, the shrieking starts. Louis follows as quickly as he can while keeping his dignity, but Harry is doing fine, smiling and waving at the crowd. It's a small red carpet – actually it's blue – but there's a massive crowd gathered here in front of the Sydney Opera House. “They're not all here for me, right?” Harry whispers.

“Course not, you egomaniac,” Louis whispers back, though he's fairly sure they are. The crowd wasn't yelling like this before Harry got out of the car. “Shall we?”

Harry takes a deep breath and nods. After that, they just have to go through the motions they've been coached on: shake a few hands over the barriers, but don't sign anything or take selfies; walk a few yards, stop and pose next to each other, repeat. It's not hard. The photographers yell all kinds of things, but they don't have to respond or pay them any mind.

Near the end of the walk, though, a photographer with a booming voice yells, “Put your arm around him!” Several others join in with encouraging shouts. Louis turns to look at Harry, raising his eyebrows. Harry shrugs, a small smile on his lips, and Louis decides to go for it. He slides his hand in between Harry's arm and his body to rest it lightly on Harry's lower back. He probably smiles even wider when he feels Harry's hand between his shoulder blades. It's not a very intimate stance, but he's proud to be standing with Harry like this – as, unambiguously, his date.

When Harry turns to keep walking, he keeps his arm around Louis. It's a struggle for Louis to keep himself from grinning like a fool. He knows he needs to keep it together for their next stop: interviews.

Inside the building, there's no longer a formal walkway, but there are journalists buzzing around trying to waylay the prime guests. For this, too, there's a strategy. There are a few outlets they'll definitely speak to, and a few they'll definitely avoid. Harry steers them smoothly around the room and doesn't once let go of Louis.

Louis doesn't actually understand why. He's certainly not going to try to get away, though.

It makes it a bit hard to focus on the journalists' questions. He's preoccupied thinking about how nice it feels to have Harry's arm around him, and how nice it feels to be pressed up against him, not to mention how many pictures there are going to be of them together.

Fortunately, Harry is the focus. Most of the journalists don't ask Louis a single question. They just give Harry opportunities to provide rehearsed sound bites. He's happy to be here, he's impressed by the bravery of the heroes to be honoured tonight, he loves Australia, yes it's hot, yes the beaches are lovely, yes he's seen a kangaroo already, no he won't give you his best go at an Australian accent.

Of course, a few do ask about Louis. They have an answer for this, too: they're friends. That's all they say when asked if they're dating. Not a real denial, not a confirmation, just, _yes, he's my date tonight, we're good friends._ Most of the reporters grudgingly accept this, but one rolls his eyes and says, “You really don't look like you're just friends.”

Louis grins and quickly fires back, “Well, that's your interpretation, mate.”

Harry laughs and quickly steers him away. “Your interpretation... wow, Lou.” 

“I just call it like I see it,” Louis says brightly, patting Harry's back. “Do we get to go sit now?”

“Yeah, if we can avoid the rest of them.”

They do greet and shake hands with a few people who intercept them – local celebrities mostly – but then the announcement goes out that the ceremony will start soon.

Seated near the front of the room, Harry murmurs, “It's weird that we're all the way up here. I feel like it should be all the families getting the best view, you know?”

Louis pats his knee. “Well. This is how it is.”

“Yeah.” 

“At least _they're_ all up here,” Louis says, gesturing at the block of honourees in the first few rows.

“Do you reckon it's because there's so many of them that they put them all together?”

“And because this hall is so big. It'd take ages for them to get to the stage if they were in the back.”

“And this isn't even the biggest concert hall here,” Harry muses, twisting in his seat to look around.

“Oh, no? We should sneak into the other one later, then.”

Harry gives him a scandalised look. “We can't do that! I'm pretty sure the symphony is performing there tonight.”

“So we sneak in and we get to see the symphony. It's a great plan.” 

“Louis, no.” 

Someone walks out onto the stage, and Louis quickly whispers, “We'll figure it out later.” Then the ceremony begins.

It's exactly as long and boring as Louis expected. Most of the investitures are for things he doesn't care about. He knows how to behave at this sort of thing, but it has been a while since he's had to do it. He tries to make a plan for breaking into the other concert hall, but he hasn't exactly studied up on the Sydney Opera House and he doesn't know enough to formulate a real strategy. He's just going to have to improvise, which is fine, but that doesn't provide him with the mental entertainment he needs right now.

As some professor shakes hands with some governor, Louis slouches back in his seat and lets his legs fall gradually farther apart until his knee nudges against Harry's. He watches Harry out of the corner of his eye, but he can't really see the other man's face well, between the angles and the low light. Harry doesn't react outwardly as far as Louis can see, but he doesn't move his leg away.

They don't get to the heroes of the fire until the end. There are enough of them that they bring them up in groups: the firefighters, the medical response people, the search-and-rescuers, the civilians who did something extraordinary during the disaster, the bush pilots who had staged a daring rescue of school children and townspeople.

Then they bring up the widows, widowers, and children who are accepting posthumous awards for firefighters, pilots, and victims who didn't make it out. None of them cry, but Louis can see tears in most of their eyes behind their stoic expressions.

He feels a touch and glances over in surprise. Harry is still looking at the stage, but he's put a hand on Louis' arm. His eyes look wet, too. Louis knows he shouldn't look, knows his focus should be on the stage, but he stares helplessly at Harry. He's struck by how lovely Harry is, how open-hearted, almost in tears over what these complete strangers have lost. Louis puts his hand over Harry's on his arm and gives a gentle squeeze. Harry still doesn't look at him, but he tangles their fingers together and grips Louis' hand hard.

Louis feels suddenly light-headed. He's sure he's an awful person to not be concentrating on the bereaved, but _oh god Harry's holding his hand._

The presenters start in on closing speeches, and Harry lets go of Louis' hand to rub at his eyes. “Do I look okay?” Harry whispers, finally looking over at Louis.

Louis looks him over with a critical eye. “Yeah, you're fine,” he whispers back. Harry's eyes are barely a touch redder. It's not very obvious and Louis expects that the irritation will calm down shortly.

Finally, they're free to shuffle out of the hall, not a moment too soon as far as Louis is concerned. “I'm starving,” he informs Harry. “That was so long.”

“Well, there were a lot of people who deserved recognition,” Harry says evenly.

“You're too nice,” Louis says, rolling his eyes. “Oh, quick, I see food.”

Louis bolts. After triumphantly securing a plate of snacks, he looks around and realises that Harry isn't even with him. “Oh, bollocks,” he mutters. The room for the reception is quite large and it's not going to be easy to spot him.

Louis wrestles with a few plans before making a decision. He quickly stuffs some food into his mouth, hoping that no one is paying attention to him, before loading the plate up again. Then he locates the bar and orders two drinks. He talks the bartender into serving him cocktails in coffee cups with handles so that he can carry the drinks and the food all at once.

It's still not easy carrying it all through the crowd. A few people recognise him and try to spark up a conversation, too, but he brushes them off as politely as he can. He's on a mission.

After a few minutes, he spots Harry shaking hands with two people who have medals around their necks. Harry steps away from them, looks around, and quickly steps up to the next medalled person he spots.

Louis chuckles under his breath. He wonders if Harry just going from honouree to honouree and blessing them with his attention. It looks that way.

He confidently inserts himself into the circle. “Sorry, all, hello, how're you? Brought you a drink,” he says quickly, holding out the cups to Harry so he can take one.

“Tea? Or, ah, not tea?” Harry asks, taking a cup and peering into it.

“It's a cocktail, I think something fruity. I just couldn't hold two glasses and a plate too so I made them give me mugs. Want some snacks?”

Harry takes a canapé and eats it quickly, smiling. “Thanks, Lou.”

He turns back to the people he'd been speaking with. It's like standing in a spotlight and suddenly having it shut off. Louis blinks, realising how instantly he'd been caught up in a bubble, feeling Harry's focus entirely on him and doing the same in return. He hasn't even actually looked at the other people in the conversation.

He sees them now caught up in the same effect, clearly enthralled by Harry. He follows Harry on to the next little group, and the next. It's gratifying to see how instantaneously Harry charms them all. Louis knew he was right. They seem to enjoy Louis too, which is fortunate since keeping his mouth shut isn't Louis' greatest strength.

“You know, at some point one of those politicians is going to manage to catch you for a photo op,” Louis whispers to Harry during a rare moment when it's just the two of them. Harry just mutters grumpily in response, so Louis continues, “Let's sneak out and find the concert hall. Come on, let's pretend we're going to the loo.”

“We're not doing that, Lou. What would people say if we got caught? Anyway, we might miss the call in to dinner.”

“So we'll just not get caught, and be fast.”

“You're full of it,” Harry laughs. “Do you even know how to find it?”

Louis scoffs. “I don't need to know, it's a giant concert hall, it can't be hard to find.”

“This place is massive. I don't think it'd actually be that easy. So what's your plan to find it?” 

“I don't need a plan.”

They're still bickering when a voice over the sound system announces that they can be seated for dinner. “Thank god,” Harry mutters, putting a hand on Louis' back and steering him towards the doorway. “I'm not going to have to bail you out of Aussie jail for trespassing.”

Louis is pensive as they walk. Harry taps on his back and says, “You're quiet suddenly.”

“I'm thinking of what else I can get up to,” Louis whispers back. “I have to steal something.”

“You have to – what?”

“You heard me. Let me know if you get any good ideas.”

“I really hope you're joking,” Harry sighs.

They're seated with a few politicians and a few of the bush pilots, along with their spouses. Louis is grateful that they don't only have to schmooze with celebrities and members of government. The pilots are much more fun, full of daring stories and fascinating anecdotes. Also, they don't rat him out when they notice him slipping his dessert spoon into a pocket.

The dinner flies by, followed by more mingling. They get drinks and chat with the array of celebrities, politicians, and civilians. It feels like everyone in the room wants to talk to them, and it's exhausting, but it's exhilarating, too. Some of the guests even seem interested in Louis in his own right, as if he's still relevant, as if getting a chance to meet Louis Tomlinson has actually brightened their day.

He hopes that someday, they'll be excited to meet him for what he's done as an actor and not just for his association with the royal family. It's a nice feeling nonetheless.

As it gets later, the crowd starts to thin, and they find themselves in between conversations. “Let's go outside for a minute,” Louis suggests quickly. “Have a bit of fresh air?”

“Yeah, all right.”

The air has cooled down from the heat of the day, and the slight chill is refreshing. They lean against the railing at the edge of the platform and look out over Sydney Harbour. City lights twinkle, reflected in the water. Overhead, the sky is clear, but only a few stars can be seen through the glow of the city. There are a few other people milling around outside, and they can hear the music from inside, but Louis feels far removed from the party. They're standing very close, no one near them. It's one of the more private moments they've had on this trip.

“So? Having fun?” Louis asks.

A light breeze plays with Harry's curls. He answers slowly. “Yeah, actually. It's been good. Everyone has been really lovely. Some of them were so excited to meet me. It was nice.”

“Well, you charmed the socks off them all.”

“Did you steal them?”

“What, their socks? No, that was you, I just said. I only took this spoon.”

“Oh my god, you have to give that back.”

“Not a chance. It's mine now. It's just a spoon anyway.”

“So how has this been for you?” Harry asks. “Not too miserable?”

“Nah, not at all. I mean the ceremony was quite boring, but no, it was all right. Fun to be a part of, yeah. And you can really work a room, Harry. Where'd you learn that?”

“I don't really know what you mean.”

“Are you joking? The way you went around – with every person, it was like they had your undivided attention, and yet you also spent just the right amount of time and then moved on so you could talk to as many people as possible. No one taught you that?”

“I was just trying to be polite.”

Louis gawks at him. “Well, you smashed it. If that was instinct, that's crazy. I don't know if I've ever seen someone do it that well.”

“No way. You're flattering me.” Harry smiles shyly.

“I mean it.” Louis nudges Harry with his elbow. “It's like you were born to be a prince or something.”

Harry looks out over the water pensively. “Huh. That's... good to know, actually. Oh, but I was asking about you.”

“Yeah, and I answered, so?”

“No, I mean...” Harry shakes his head. “You wanted to get away from all this, like, before. So being back in it. How is it? That's what I was trying to ask it.”

“Oh. I see.” Louis glances around quickly; there's still no one close to them. “I reckon I'm going to start rambling a bit if I answer properly.”

Harry looks at him intensely. “Go for it. I want to know.”

“Shit. I've thought about this a lot but I'm sure I'm gonna screw it up trying to put it into words now. But, okay.” Louis fidgets nervously, fingers tapping on the railing, words spilling out in a rush. “So I felt like, I just wanted to be free, you know? Just live a normal life for once. So I got away from my whole life and I just did that, just lived like a normal lad. And, yeah, it was nice. For a while I thought, this is exactly what I want. But after a while I realised that I was so... disconnected. You know, stuff happened with my family that I didn't know about, and no one told me because they didn't want to burden me with it. And then, you know, it was great to be able to pop round to the shops with no one bothering me, to just go about my day like that. But...”

Louis sighs and shakes his head. “I'm not sure how to say this. It's not like I want to be famous for its own sake. But it is cool to be part of public life, to feel like you're important to people, to feel like what you say and do can make a real difference, do you see what I mean? And, like, I want to be an actor. I love performing. To do that, anyway, I've got to accept the possibility of being publicly well-known. But, like. What I really mean is. All of this, it's not really so bad. This life is worth it if I can do something good with it, and, erm, if I can be close to the people I care about. I don't, well, I don't want to be just totally off on my own. That's what I've learned.”

Harry looks at him for a long moment with bright eyes. He's been nodding along, biting his lip and listening closely without interjecting. Now he carefully asks, “What are you saying?”

Louis takes a deep breath and thinks, _fucking be brave, Tomlinson._ “I'm saying that... that I'll be your date to as many of these things as you want. Because I - I like being with you.”

“You mean, as my friend? Or...”

“Erm, well, as whatever you want, I guess. I... ugh. Okay, fine, if you're going to make me say it. I don't know if you still have feelings for me, and if you don't, er, that's okay. I'd understand, obviously. But I... do. For you.” Louis groans, smacking a hand over his face. They're going to have the worst flight home if he's misread this situation. “Sorry, I'm awful at this.”

Harry gently pries the hand away and doesn't let go of it. Smiling softly, he says, “I thought that was nice.”

“Nice,” Louis croaks. “Cool. Reckon there's nothing I'd rather hear than that my awkward romantic confession is _nice.”_

Harry laughs. “Shut up. No, I... can we hug?”

Louis turns immediately and spreads his arms. “Please.”

Harry crashes into him, arms wrapping tightly around, holding Louis as close as he physically can. Louis feels a rush of tension evaporating away and lets himself melt into Harry. It feels so good to hold him again.

He had expected a quick embrace, but Harry doesn't let go. They hold each other for a long, long moment.

Harry murmurs into his hair, “I'm really glad you're here.”

He pulls back a little then, eyes searching Louis' face, and Louis desperately thinks, _kiss me, kiss me now, kiss me._

“I think I... I would try again, with us, Louis. But. Maybe not quite yet. Let's, like, get home, and see how you feel about it after all the reactions come in,” Harry says quietly.

“I'm not going to change my mind,” Louis whispers, and, because he can never seem to stop pushing, adds, “And it would be romantic as hell if we kissed right now.”

Harry bites his lip, eyes flicking down to Louis' mouth. “I'm not sure...”

“Harry,” Louis pleads. “It doesn't have to mean we're back together right this second. It can just be... what it is. Please?”

Harry huffs out a breath of a laugh, and leans in, and kisses him.

It's electric. Feeling Harry's soft lips on his after a year and a half is a beautiful shock to the system. Louis clutches at the back of Harry's jacket and lets out an involuntary whimper that he desperately hopes Harry doesn't hear. He tastes like wine and he feels like heaven.

Harry breaks the kiss first, leaning his forehead against Louis' with a sigh. “I still want to wait. Want you to think about it more.”

“This is all I've been thinking about for days.”

“Oh, come on.” Harry giggles. “Still. Just a little time, okay? To be sure.”

Louis sighs. “Okay. It's your call.”

“Thanks.” Harry hugs him again, and then quickly pulls back, looking around them. “Shit, I hope no one took pictures of that. I didn't think.”

“I don't care if they did,” Louis says firmly.


	23. Chapter 23

Harry is slightly concerned.

Louis had been with him as they waited for the flight to board, but he'd suddenly darted off, claiming he needed to take care of something. Now Harry is seated in first class next to an empty seat. He shouldn't actually worry, he tells himself – boarding the rest of the place will take ages and Louis has people to make sure he gets on the plane.

He still breathes a little sigh of relief when Louis comes rushing up the aisle. That feeling quickly turns to confusion when Louis drops a stack of magazines on his table. “Got us some entertainment for the flight,” he chirps.

Harry starts looking through the pile. “Did... did you buy all the magazines that have us in them?”

“No, I got my assistant Melissa to.”

“I know who Melissa is.”

“Yeah, of course you do.”

“I don't usually look at this stuff,” Harry admits, flicking open the top one.

“You don't have to, but I'm gonna. Give them here, then.” Louis leans over the divider between them to grab the magazines. Harry quickly snatches off the top few before passing the rest to Louis.

Louis raises an eyebrow at that. Harry shrugs and says, “Well, now I'm curious. Although if anyone sees us, they're going to think we're self-obsessed wankers.”

Louis just shrugs and starts paging through the glossy in his hands. “Shit, we look good. This is a great shot, look.”

They do look good in their tailored suits with their arms around each other. It makes Harry's heart beat faster. They look like a couple, standing close and comfortable, and this article seems to simply assume that they are.

It's interesting to see the variations in how they're portrayed, Harry finds. One magazine just has a picture of them and a caption, “Prince Harry attended the investiture with Louis Tomlinson.” One magazine discusses them mainly in terms of their fashion choices; one has a breathless paragraph about how they'll surely be the couple of the century and how “wedding bells can't be far.” One magazine has an entire page dedicated to the question of whether they're dating and what that means, including some obviously fabricated quotes from “sources” and pictures of them together from when Harry was first announced as the prince. Harry hasn't seen those in a while. It's weird. They look so young.

Harry doesn't really care what the magazines say. It's fun to see the pictures because they do look good, and the speculation is equal parts amusing and confusing, but ultimately he doesn't have a choice in being a public figure. He can't afford to care too much about what's being said about him. People are going to talk about him. That's just his life. Louis has a choice, and he's working on making it right now, Harry thinks.

Trying not to be too obvious, he looks over at Louis. The other man is smiling softly when Harry first looks at him. It's quite fun to watch him. He raises his eyebrows, he chuckles softly, he scoffs.

“I can feel you staring at me,” Louis whispers.

“I'm not.” He doesn't look away.

“OK! magazine didn't like my hair. They're on my shit list now.”

“Is that the worst you've found?” Harry asks curiously.

Louis shrugs. “One or two are wondering whether I'm good enough for you, but I know I am, so fuck them.”

“Always so modest,” Harry murmurs, studying Louis' face and trying to figure him out. Is that bravado or does he mean it?

“Well, I'm not freaking out over any of it, if that's what you're looking for. Ready to switch stacks?”

“You can just have these. I think I'll read my book now. Or maybe watch a film.”

“Okay,” Louis says easily, taking Harry's magazines. “Let me know if you find something good to watch.”

 

* * *

 

It's amazingly hard to sit next to Louis on the long journey back to Britain and not say _please tell me that you still want me,_ or, _whatever, fine, please be my boyfriend now._ He doesn't, because he's sure that it will all crash and burn if he pressures Louis too much, if he doesn't give him the space to think and doubt and be sure. It's hard, though.

It's hard being back at school, jet-lagged and trying not to nod off in class. He hears people whisper about him in the hallways. His friends nudge him and grin and ask, “So, you and Louis, huh?” He had gotten used to living in a little bubble where his friends just treat him like a normal person; he'd managed to forget that they'd see the pictures and articles. It's strange because he's not ready to tell them yet. He doesn't want to spread information about him and Louis when he knows it might not work out between them.

Harry desperately wants to talk to someone. The problem is, he has two kinds of people in life: people he trusts but whom he knows he shouldn't put in that position between him and Louis; and people who don't know Louis but whom he perhaps can't entirely trust.

He rings Niall, but he ends up dodging his brother's questions about Louis. He talks to Gemma and Anne, but mostly in general terms about how his first big event went.

Finally, he calls Liam. Their contact has been sporadic, but he considers Liam a friend and he knows that Liam can keep a secret. Liam and Louis are acquainted, it's true, but he can't imagine that they're actually _that_ close. He reckons it's fine to talk to Liam. Maybe the other man will have some insight.

Liam answers right away, sounding cheerful. Harry ends up hearing all about his day in the studio and even gets to hear a bit from his newest track before he manages to bring up the reason for his call.

“So, erm, I'm sorry if this is weird, but I kind of wanted to get your advice on something? Or maybe just talk it over.”

“What is it?” Liam asks, sounding suddenly wary.

“Erm, well, it's about Louis—”

“Oh no,” Liam interrupts. “I'm not gonna be in the middle of this, no way.”

“What?”

“I'm sorry, mate, but Louis called me first and it's just weird now if I talk to you about it too. I'm not gonna be the moderator here, you've got to resolve this yourselves.”

“I – no! I wasn't asking for that, Li. It's just, I don't really have anyone to talk to about it and I thought - ,wait, huh, so Louis called you to talk about... me?”

Liam laughs. “My lips are sealed. Sorry, Harry. There's got to be someone else you could talk to.”

“Not really.”

“Maybe someone named Louis?”

Harry groans, and Liam laughs. “I'm sorry, but that's all I can say, okay. Tell me more about Australia. Did you see any kangaroos?”

It takes two days until he finally hears from Louis, and then it's just a text message: _You're not even going to ask me?_

It's a confusing question. Harry doesn't entirely know what he means, but he writes back, _I'm giving you space to think and stuff._

 _Well you have done_ , Louis shoots back quickly. Harry doesn't know how to answer that, so he sets his mobile aside and starts to hunt for the book he needs. He's read several pages by the time his phone buzzes again. On the screen, he sees, _Are you being distant because you don't want this? Should I just leave you alone?_

Harry's heart drops and he quickly snatches up the phone. _No!! I do. I just want you to be sure..._

He doesn't want to elaborate, so he just sends the message back like that. Better to respond quickly, he thinks, because it seemed like such a sad, worried message. He's scared to put himself out there, but he's not trying to hurt Louis.

His mobile rings, and he picks up. “Erm, hey, hi.”

“I wish you would try to believe me,” Louis says.

Harry is struck dumb by the sadness in his voice. Into the silence, Louis continues, “I know I wasn't honest with you before, but I am now. I don't know how to make you see that. Harry, I really think this can work, but you have to – it can't unless you try to believe me.” Harry breathes in shakily, and Louis adds, “What do you need, to make you trust me?”

“I... I don't know.” 

“Can't you try? Please,” Louis begs.

“It's just... hard to think that you might change your mind. You might decide that you need to go find yourself in, like, Africa or something.”

Louis snorts. “I already found myself. That's done. I know who I am and I know what I want. I mean I can't swear I won't have a mid-life crisis in, like, twenty years, but that's a bit far down the line, isn't it. And look, I'll just buy a ridiculous car and do something terrible to my hair, okay. I won't leave you.”

Harry blushes; he's glad that he's alone. He can't believe that Louis is talking about them being together in _twenty years._ “Sure about that?”

“Yeah, yeah, I'm putting it in my calendar right now. But seriously. Harry, listen. I want to be an actor. If I get an opportunity to, like, do a play in New York, or shoot something in LA, I'm going to want to go, you know? But I can promise you that, erm, if we're together, you'd always be a factor in that decision. It's never going to be me just running off with no warning. I did actually learn from that, believe it or not, and I'm not going to do that again, I swear. It's always gonna be a discussion, okay, and, like, I want you to support me in that, but, you know, there's going to be times in our lives when we'll decide it's not right for me to go away. Okay?”

“Okay,” Harry sighs out. “That's... yeah. That's okay.”

“Okay! So, yes?” Louis exclaims.

“I mean. If you're sure you're sure.”

“I'm sure I'm sure I'm sure,” Louis laughs.

“Oi, I feel like you're making fun of me now.”

“Yeah, you should probably get used to that if I'm gonna be your boyfriend,” Louis says warmly. “I am, right?”

“Don't you want to, like, go on a few dates first before we're, like, official?”

“No, I wanna lock this down.”

“That's... erm, okay.” Harry scratches his cheek and tries to stop smiling, even though Louis isn't there to see.

“Although I would absolutely like to go on a date. When can I see you?”

“Er, I mean, we don't really have more leave-out weekends. A weekend afternoon, I guess, I can leave campus?”

Louis pauses. “Listen, I don't mean to be presumptuous here, but if I'm driving three hours to see you, it'd be nice to see you for more than a couple hours. You've gotta be able to sneak out, right? Or, stay out late, and sneak back in?”

“Ermmm. You know what, let me get back to you on that, okay.”

In theory, what Louis wants isn't difficult. There are rules about when they must be on campus and about when they should be in their rooms, yes. The trick is that the staff rarely check on the older students.

The school philosophy is big on self-reliance and self-discipline. A student who sleeps too little and neglects their work will pay the price when it comes to their marks. In the upper years, the pupils are expected to be able to prioritise and take responsibility for their actions. Consequently, bed checks are very rare. They're random, though, so he'd be taking a big risk.

Except.

Except there's the matter of his roommate. Dan – or is it Don? – is, somehow, always in the room whenever a bed check happens. It's the only time he's ever in his assigned bed. He obviously has some inside knowledge, and it might just be time for Harry to lean on him.

First he'll have to figure out the lad's name. That turns out to be pretty easy: he just digs through the sparse personal items until he finds a pencil case inscribed with the name Donald. So it's probably Don after all.

Less easy is tracking down the elusive Don.

It shouldn't be this hard. They've been roommates for almost a year, yet Harry knows almost nothing about him. He doesn't know what classes Don takes, or what sport he plays, or where he sits at meals.   

It takes long enough that a weekend passes them by, with Louis sending needy texts that make Harry fidget and blush. This stage of things is sweet. They flirt on the phone, and it's cute and low-pressure, and neither of them has messed it up yet. Perhaps that's why Harry hasn't found Don yet; perhaps he's not trying his hardest. He doesn't admit this to Louis, but he's very nervous about physically getting together as a date, as boyfriends. He feels like it could all come crashing down so quickly.

Still, he can't stop thinking about Louis wanting to see him, wanting more than just an afternoon together. He's probably getting way ahead of himself, but he keeps thinking about what they could do with a whole night together, and he needs to stop because that's how you get a boner in the middle of class.

Harry feels 15 again. It's awkward and embarrassing, and it's just ridiculous that he's in his room debating over whether it's wrong to wank to thoughts of Louis when he could be taking action to get Louis here.

With shame burning in his gut, Harry renews his search. He skulks around the grounds in the afternoons until he finds out that Don plays tennis. Finally. Then he lurks nearby, sitting on a tree root above the still-damp ground, half reading a book, half texting with Louis. After what feels like ages, Don finally packs up and strides off the court with his partner. Harry quickly scrambles to put himself onto an interception course and prays that he looks natural.

“Don, hey!” he calls as he approaches, smiling and waving.

Don looks startled. “Erm, hi?”

“Listen, sorry, can I talk to you for a sec?”

“Er, yeah, I guess? I'll catch you later, Paul,” Don adds, waving off his tennis partner. “Er, so what is it, erm, Harry?”

“Okay, here's the thing. I've noticed that somehow, you're always in the room whenever the staff check up on us, and, well, I want to know how.”

Don stares at him like a deer in the headlights. “I – I can't tell you about that.”

“I don't need to know your source, I get it, but, like, how much warning do you have? Do you know if there'll be a check this weekend?”

The other boy is actually, visibly sweating, and he wasn't a moment ago. It's actually kind of funny, except for the fact that he's not saying anything, and Harry needs him to talk.

“Listen, Don, I'm not trying to catch you out here. The truth is I need your help and I'm trusting you.” Harry puts a hand on Don's shoulder and looks at him earnestly. “Please, can't you help me here?”

Don shies away from Harry, shrugging off his hand. Looking uncomfortable, he says, “Okay, look. I haven't heard anything about this weekend but I usually only get a few hours notice, so, who knows.”

Harry frowns, tapping his chin. “What would it take to get you to agree to text me if you hear something?”

“What do you mean?”

Harry tries not to roll his eyes. That probably wouldn't go over well. “I'm saying, I want you to let me know this weekend if you hear anything about a room check. You'd be doing me a favour. So I'm asking, do you want some kind of compensation for your troubles.”

Don grimaces, waving at Harry's body vaguely. “Listen, whatever you're offering, I'm not interested, okay? I'm not like that. And I can't tell you any more.” Abruptly, he jogs off, leaving Harry standing in bewilderment.

“Wait, what?” _Ah, shit._ He groans. He had been banking on this. Now he still has no way to know if he's going to get busted, and he may have made his absentee roommate think Harry's trying to seduce him.

 _Shit, is that why I never see him?_ The thought that Don has been avoiding him from day one because he feels threatened by having a gay roommate is a troubling one. He only has to put up with this school for a few more weeks, though, so he tries not to let it bother him. He's more concerned about what this means for his date.

He doesn't want only an afternoon with Louis. He had been hoping for a whole day at least, maybe a whole night if things went well enough. He had seen a path to get what we wanted risk-free. Now he has to make a choice. He can stick to the rules and have no more than a few hours with Louis until the term ends in a month. On the other hand, he can bet that his room probably won't get checked – and risk serious disciplinary action – to have a night with his new boyfriend.

He mulls it over for hours before he finally rings Louis.


	24. Chapter 24

The call has been replaying in Louis' mind for days.

_Okay. Saturday. I'm free after noon, come get me then._

They made no plans beyond that. There's not always much room for spontaneity in the royal lifestyle, so Louis is happy to take the rare opportunity to not make a plan. He loves the sense of endless possibility, as if they could go anywhere and do anything. Gemma always loved to point out that infinite possibility included infinite disasters, but Gemma and her annoying opinions aren't here.

Harry directs him to park down the road a bit. Louis waits impatiently, sending text after text until Harry appears. When he finally does, he's still wearing his school uniform. Louis presses a fist to his mouth, stifling his impulses to point and laugh and maybe stand on top of his car yelling, Everyone look at Prince Harry looking like a nerd in his uniform!

He doesn't do any of that. Once he gets himself under control, though, he leans out his car window and starts taking pictures.

Harry just sighs when he sees the camera. “Really?”

“Hell yes. I'm going to treasure this memory. You really wear that every day?”

“No, this is the casual one. Sometimes we have to wear suits,” Harry says mournfully, stopping in front of Louis with his hands in the pockets of his ill-fitting slacks.

“Do you have a change of clothes in that bag or are you going to go around all day looking like a student?”

“Yeah, I have some other stuff.”

“Well, get in the car. I suppose you can't just change out here on the street.”

Harry grins crookedly. “Better not, yeah.”

Louis waits for Harry to get in, and then he keeps waiting. Harry sits in the comfortable passenger seat, looking at Louis expectantly. “So are we going somewhere?” he asks.

“Boyfriends kiss hello, don't they?” Louis blurts.

“Probably,” Harry says.

“This is weird.”

Harry snickers. “Well, if you'd taken me on a few dates before deciding we needed to define the relationship... I'm just saying.”

Louis waves his hands about. “Oh, look at you, Harry who had a boyfriend back in college, he just knows everything about relationships now.”

Harry rolls his eyes and buckles his seatbelt. “Just drive, Lou. See if I let you kiss me after that.”

“Fuck,” Louis mutters, turning on the car.

“You'll have to make it up to me. So? What's the plan?”

“No plan, I don't do plans.” He eases the car out onto the deserted street.

“You do so. You planned all that stuff in Australia.”

Louis waves him off. “That was Australia. It's different. Very hazardous place, gotta be prepared. Here, we can wing it.”

“Fly away, little Louis.”

Louis smacks him in the shoulder, not looking away from the road, and they laugh together as the car cruises west away from Gordonstoun.

“It's a nice day,” Harry says, rolling down his window. Clouds scud across the sky, hiding and revealing the sun in turns. It's even warm, at least by the standards of Scotland, and Harry soon strips off his jumper. “What are we doing?”

“Dunno really. I reckoned we didn't want a big fuss from being seen together, right? Not because I'm worried about the attention, just, like, it's kind of our first date and I thought...” Louis sighs, shoulders slumping. “Have I fucked this up already? I just thought it'd be nice if it was just us.”

“No, I get it,” Harry answers. “Our trip to Australia was so public. So this is kind of the opposite.”

“Yeah.”

“But, like... So are we just going to drive all afternoon?”

“Inspiration will come,” Louis assures him. It's not a _no,_ because Louis believes in leaving his options open. “Hey, so. I got responses to all my auditions.”

“What! You didn't tell me. What happened?”

“Well. Got a no from RADA, so, that sucks.”

“Aw, Lou, I'm sorry. But it was always a long shot, right?”

“Yeah, their acceptance rate is crazy low. So. It's still disappointing, but, yeah. But I got accepted at Guildhall! So I've just got to pick between them and LAMDA.”

“Congratulations!” Louis glances over to see Harry beaming at him as he says, “Ah, that's wonderful. I'm so happy for you. Which will you pick, do you think?”

“Not sure yet. I think I'm maybe leaning towards Guildhall, but, I don't know, I need to think about it more. Hey, did you pick a university yet?”

“Erm, yeah. It's conditional and I'm going to have to do really well on my A-levels for it to work out, but, er, yeah, my first pick is Imperial College.”

“Oh, shit. I'm turning this car around, you need to be hitting the books.”

“Don't you dare!” Harry shrieks as Louis jerks the wheel and howls with laughter.

He tries to keep moving west and north. He knows that the proper highlands are up here somewhere. He could look it up, but it's fun to just drive, not knowing where they are or where they're going. Harry gets into it, too, calling out suggestions every time there's a fork in the road.

Passing through yet another tiny town surrounded by farms, Louis pulls abruptly into the parking lot of a small market. “Snacks, we need supplies. You want to wait in the car while I shop?”

“Not really, but I should. If the school sees pictures of me out here when I'm supposed to be on campus...” 

“Don't worry. I'll take care of you.” Louis winks and slips out of the car.

The store is deserted so he's left in peace as he heaps junk food and fizzy drinks into his trolley. The woman at the till obviously recognises him and asks what's brought him to her little town. Louis shrugs. “Just felt like a bit of a drive.”

She looks unimpressed by his answer but more unimpressed by the packaged sandwiches he'd picked up. “These are terrible,” she says bluntly. “You know, we've got a pub a couple blocks down. I could ring them for you and they'll make you up some lovely sandwiches, much better than these.”

“Wow, erm. That's, er, kind of you to offer? But I meant to get right back on the road...”

“Don't worry, I'll tell them to pack them up for you to take away. Just a mo. How many do you want?”

She pulls out her mobile and walks off, taking the pre-made sandwiches with her. Louis stares after her and prays that she isn't alerting the entire village to his presence. She's back fairly quickly, though, to take payment for the food she is allowing him to buy before sending him on his way.

Louis still half-believes that it's a trap, but Harry is surprisingly enthusiastic about the pub sandwiches. Soon he's armed with a pile of sandwiches and snacks, and they're ready to speed off again into the depths of Scotland.

 

* * *

 

“It's weird how there's these car parks in the middle of nowhere,” Louis muses. He's noticed a few of them: patches of bare dirt and a few cars for no discernible reason.

“It's a trailhead,” Harry says.

“Wait, what?” Louis slams on the brakes.

Harry yelps in alarm at the sudden stop. Then he laughs at Louis’ confused frown. “What do you mean, what? That’s pretty standard. What, you’ve never gone for a hike?”

“Not in a long time,” Louis admits as he turns into the tiny car park. “Guess I kind of forgot about how it all worked. They kept me pretty hidden away and protected for a while there, remember? And then when we did go out, we always had guides and guards and stuff. So we could hike from here?”

“Probably. I don't see why else anyone would stop here. We're still kind of far from that lake and there's no buildings around. We'd probably find a path if we looked around.”

“Shit. I was kind of looking for trails but I thought there'd be signs or something. The trails always had signs when I went hiking in America.”

Harry shrugs as he opens his car door. It only takes a moment of looking around before he's pointing out the trail. “Yeah, see, there's a dirt path right over there.”

“You reckon it goes up this mountain?” Louis asks hopefully.

“Who knows. We could probably Google it.”

“No!” Louis exclaims, slapping his hand over the screen of Harry's phone. “That ruins the surprise.”

“The... surprise?” Harry wrinkles his nose. “I don't think you're exactly supposed to be surprised when you're walking around in the wilderness with no idea where you are. Getting lost would be surprising, but not in a good way.”

“Harry, Harry.” Louis shakes his head. “We're on an adventure. We cast ourselves into the wind and see where it takes us.”

“That doesn't make sense.”

“Sshh, babe, I know what I'm doing.” He definitely doesn't. “Let's pack up some food and check it out.”

Harry considers him for a long moment before saying, “Look, fine, I won't look at a map but I'm going to text Gemma where we are. So, like, they'll at least know where to start looking for our bodies after we die.”

“You're so dramatic. It's a beautiful and very not-dangerous day.” Louis rolls his eyes and turns back to the car to start gathering things. They've already eaten half the sandwiches, but he piles up the remaining ones, along with a bag of crisps and a package of biscuits. He grabs a few cans of fizzy drinks and two beers as well. He should probably have bought some water. “Did you bring water?”

“I've got a bottle in my backpack but I've drunk most of it,” Harry says. “Gemma says we're really stupid and she's not going to cry if we die and also why are we together in the Scottish highlands.”

“You're ignoring her, right?”

“Yeah, but I told her to panic if I don't text her again by dark.”

“Good lad. You think this is enough food? Maybe I should bring another pack of crisps just to be safe.”

“Sure, why not. Oh, bring those chocolate biscuits, too. You bought beer?”

Louis shrugs. “Sure, why not?”

Harry laughs and sets to re-packing his backpack. Louis thinks they're reasonably well equipped: plenty of food, plenty of liquid even if it's not water, and spare jumpers. They can use the GPS on their phones if they need to, and there are hours of daylight left, so they're perfectly safe.

“I'm putting my phone in airplane mode to conserve the battery,” Harry announces.

“Why are you so paranoid about going for a little walk?”

Harry raises an eyebrow. “Er, I've been trained in search and rescue? So I've learned about how people end up in situations where they need to be searched for and rescued? And, like, it's this situation right here. Like this is literally how you get lost and end up hypothermic on some mountaintop.”

“But you're still coming.”

Harry sighs and hefts his backpack. “Seems like it.”

“Why?” Grinning, Louis ambles over and attempts to slip an arm around Harry's waist to pull him against Louis' side. Because of the backpack, he has to aim low and ends up pretty much grabbing Harry's arse. “Is it because you like me?”

“Maybe,” Harry says, his voice rough. Louis suddenly realises that this is the first time they've really touched since their kiss in Sydney. They'd kept their distance on the plane ride home then and they've continued to on this drive, nothing more than quick touches to a knee or a shoulder. It feels good to hold Harry, to feel Harry wrap an arm around him. Harry's looking at him intensely. Louis is sure that he could kiss Harry now, but he's not sure if he'd be able to stop, and he really does want to find out where the trail goes. He didn't drive for hours just to snog in a car park.

He squeezes Harry's hip and steps back to take a look around. The truth is that the car park is respectably scenic in its own right. They're surrounded by dazzlingly green grass dotted with little white flowers, interspersed with low shrubs and stones. Rocky hills range around them while an expanse of water glitters below. He's fairly sure it's a lake, but then a salty, organic smell in the air leaves him wondering if they've gotten all the way to the west coast.

“Well, let's get this show on the road,” Louis says decisively. “Ready?”

“Unfortunately.”

Louis snorts. “Oh, come on.”

The trail is barely more than a thin break in the vegetation, so it's not always easy to follow. They lose it a few times and have to backtrack. They just get so distracted talking to each other. Louis hears all about what's new with Harry's friends, and what Harry's been studying, and how nervous he is for exams. In turn, Louis confesses how poorly he's done in his own classes now that he's sure he's leaving St. Andrews and how hard he's finding the decision on which school to attend next year.

In the middle of that conversation, Harry hurries up from behind him, grabbing Louis' hand and falling into step behind him.

“You're not on the trail.”

“It's so narrow, but I want to walk by you,” Harry says.

Louis squeezes his hand. “Thought you were all about following the rules.”

“I wouldn't be here at all if that were true,” Harry smiles, swinging their joined hands.

It makes for a sweet few minutes. Soon enough, the trail gets steeper and rockier, and it's too difficult to walk hand-in-hand. “You take the lead for a bit,” Louis says, trying not to sound breathless.

“You okay? Want a rest?”

“No, I want to get to the top.”

“You don't even know how far it is.”

“I do. It's right up there.” Louis points at the peak rearing up ahead of them.

“You said that before, and then we crested a hill and we saw a whole new peak,” Harry points out. “How do you know that's the top? Hey, maybe it's a mirage.”

“It's totally the top. No doubt in my mind.”

He gracefully ignores Harry's mutterings and focuses on Harry's arse in front of him. It's sort of motivating, like the proverbial carrot dangling in front of a horse. He has to keep going because he has to catch up with the butt. He might be losing his marbles hiking up this Scottish mountain. “I think I've got altitude sickness.”

“There's not a chance in hell you've got altitude sickness.”

Louis huffs. “Since when are you a doctor?”

“I'm pretty sure there's literally no point in Britain high enough to give you altitude sickness.”

“Unless you were a mermaid and your hike started in the depths of the sea,” Louis insists.

Harry immediately lets out a honk of laughter so loud that it actually makes Louis jump. The taller man folds over on himself, hands braced on his knees as he howls with laughter.

“Oh my god, it wasn't that funny,” Louis laughs, stepping up and putting a hand on Harry's shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“The depths of the sea,” Harry giggles. “Oh, goodness.” Straightening slowly, he wipes at his eyes.

Louis looks into his eyes with mock-concern. “Maybe _you_ have altitude sickness. You're giddy with oxygen deprivation.”

“Probably,” Harry says. He cups Louis' face with a cool hand and kisses him right there on the trail.

Louis falls right into him, opening his mouth to suck at Harry's lower lip and soothe it with his tongue. There's nothing patient about it; he feels hot and hungry. When Harry pulls back, he looks a bit stunned. All he says is, “Gosh.”

“Gosh,” Louis mimics, pinching Harry's side. “I didn't realise I was dating a fifty-year-old.”

“You're fifty,” Harry says sullenly. “See you at the top, grandpa.”

“Oi!” Louis yells as Harry darts away. He only runs a few paces before dropping back down to a walk, though, and Louis catches him quickly enough.

They keep hiking as though kissing on the trail were no big deal, nothing momentous. Maybe it wasn't. Maybe they're actually boyfriends and they'll be kissing on a regular basis for the foreseeable future and that was just perfectly normal.

Louis still surreptitiously takes a picture of the spot where they kissed.

The higher they go, the rockier it gets. Instead of a trail, they're following cairns, and it's remarkably easy to lose the string of cairns. “This is the worst idea I ever had,” Louis whines loudly. He stumbles over a rock and nearly goes down, probably some kind of karmic retribution for his complaining.

“This is the best idea you ever had!” Harry yells.

Louis looks up, squinting, to spot Harry. The other man is a good twenty or thirty meters ahead. He's standing next to a tall cairn and spinning slowly with his arms spread.

“Is that the top?” Louis yells hopefully.

“Yes!” Harry calls back. “It's amazing, hurry!”

“Why hurry? The view's not going anywhere, is it,” Louis mutters, but he speeds up all the same.

It is amazing. He leans on the cairn, gasping for breath, and takes in the view. Behind them are the softly rolling, stone-studded hills sloping down to water that he's been seeing for the whole walk. Ahead of them off the other side of the peak, it's a different story. There's a dizzying cliff ahead that drops down to a grey-green valley and a small lake. There are more mountains behind, rocky peaks and bluffs poking out of the green carpet that covers the lowlands. The landscape is expansive and stunning.

Louis starts when he feels Harry lean up against him, dropping his head to Louis' shoulder. “It's so beautiful. I can't believe that you just found this.”

“Told you it'd work out.” He drops a quick kiss onto Harry's forehead. This vista far exceeds his expectations, but he won't tell Harry that. “Shall we take our packs off? Eat something and hang out for a bit?”

Harry nods and pulls out his phone. “Wow, it's six already. No wonder I'm hungry.”

Louis drops down to the ground with a small sigh. “I can't wait to move to London, but god, I'll miss the long days up here. Still a good, what, four hours to sunset?”

Harry pulls his hair back into a tiny bun and starts unwrapping in his sandwich. “About, yeah. Oh, this one's chicken and bacon, excellent. Are you going to drink a beer?”

“Fuck yes I am,” Louis says, popping the can open. “I deserve a reward for my hard work and excellent route-finding.”

“I guess you do,” Harry says, grinning widely.

They end up kissing lazily against the cairn for long minutes. Then they end up chasing down a half-empty packet of crisps that got snatched away by the gusts of wind at the summit. They pull faces and take stupid selfies, and then they take a few sickeningly sweet ones as well. By seven, they've taken dozens of photos and they've spent easily half their time at the peak making out. “It's properly teenager-y of us,” Louis notes, feeling deeply proud of himself. “But we probably should head back down?”

Harry stands with a groan. “Yeah. Oh my god, that was an unwise amount of food.”

“It's fine, going down's the easy part.” Louis winks, drawing a high-pitched giggle out of Harry.

It is easier. Nonetheless, it's nearly nine o’clock by the time they get back to Louis' car. It's only then, with the sun still shining bright on them, that Louis realises that it actually is somewhat late and they're hours away from Gordonstoun. Well, probably. It's possible that he just drove in circles for three hours and they're very close. He's fairly sure that's not the case, though.

Louis opens another can of fizzy drink before chucking his backpack into the car. “Erm, so. Do you want me to take you back to school?”

Harry shrugs. His body language is casual, but he seems to be studying Louis' face. “Reckon I'd be missing curfew even if we went straight back, so.”

“Shit, I'm sorry. I should've checked with you sooner, huh?”

“No, I could've said something. I, er, already decided I'd take the risk. So, erm, what's the alternative to driving straight back?”

“Well.” Louis clears his throat. He doesn't know why he's so bloody nervous. He knows what he's doing. Looking at Harry's lovely, curious face makes him remember all the confusion and terror of being a virgin, seventeen and afraid of getting exactly what he wanted. “We could get a room somewhere out here.”

Harry looks around them with a grin. “Good luck with that.”

“I mean, we'd drive around and find something, I guess, like we did with this.”

“Do I even need to say why I'm sceptical of this plan?”

“I mean, this hike worked out great. Trust the process, young Harold.”

“You know my name's not Harold.”

“Harold's just funnier, though. Henry hasn't got the same ring to it. It'd feel more like I was your mum scolding you. Just trust me, young Henry. See, it's not as good.”

Harry purses his lips before nodding and getting into the car. “I'll give you until dark, and then I'm googling stuff.”

“Watch and learn.”

 

* * *

 

They pass one inn that looks a bit dodgy, which Louis vetoes. Harry says no to the one surrounded by cars: probably full, certainly too high a risk of being spotted. They finally find a bed-and-breakfast out on a lonely moor, only a few vehicles parked out front, as the last rays of the sun are slipping away.

Louis goes in first to check the place out. He emerges in triumph, pulling open the door on Harry's side of the car to smile down at him. “Put that phone away, this is totally going to work.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. It's nice inside. Cute. And the lady at the front desk is reading this romance novel about a king sneaking around with his lover, so I feel like she's going to be sympathetic, you know.”

Harry snorts. “Oh my god, I know that one. Abby loves it. I don't know if that's a real basis to trust someone.”

“I got a good vibe.” Louis shrugs and extends a hand. “Take the chance, or...?”

“Okay. Yep.” Harry nods firmly and puts his hand in Louis', letting the other man pull him up. “That's why I'm out here, I suppose.”

The woman at the front desk claps a hand to her chest in shock when Harry comes in. He and Louis both turn the charm up to 11 as they each pay for a room. Harry even takes the woman's hand in his, looking into her eyes earnestly as he says, “We can trust you not to tell people that we're here, can't we? We're counting on you, Mary.”

She's easily thirty years older than they are, but she still blushes. “Of course, don't you lads worry,” she says in a soft voice. “Everyone needs a break sometimes, don't they? Well, let me just show you up to your rooms, then.”

Harry had insisted on both of them booking rooms. Louis thinks Harry's more likely to get caught because his name is in the hotel's system than he is to get in trouble because he didn't book a separate room. It's not his decision, though, so he leaves Harry at his room and heads to his own.

He's not at all sure of the protocol here. Fortunately, Harry is knocking on his door about as soon as Mary has vacated the hallway. As soon as he gets inside, the first thing Harry says is, “She gave me the better room.”

“That's not surprising.”

“So... d'you want to come over to mine? Since it's bigger and all.”

Louis smiles slowly. “Are you just inviting me to come hang out or to stay over?”

Harry ducks his head, scratching his neck nervously. “Erm, I mean, to stay? If you want to?”

“Hm.” Louis looks around his room. “Gotta make it look like someone stayed here, though, right?”

He throws himself down onto the bed and starts flailing around, wrinkling up the sheets. “Don't just stare at me, Harry, do something!”

“Er, like...?”

Louis rolls around on the bed some more, trying to look subtly enticing. Instead of coming over, though, Harry moves a cup by the sink and puts a little water into it. Then he reaches out and starts shuffling around the fliers on the desk.

Louis sits up and stares at him. Harry doesn't even notice. Indignant, Louis snaps, “Jesus Christ.”

Harry looks over, startled. “What? What am I doing wrong?”

“Do they not have flirting on whatever planet you're from?” Louis demands. “I'm rolling around on the bed and you're not even paying attention.”

“But you told me to do something and not just stare.”

Louis sighs. “You could help me with the bed.”

“Ooh. Oh!” Harry laughs, stepping closer and kneeling on the edge of the bed. “Why didn't you say so?”

“I'm trying to be suave. It's called subtlety.”

“You're like the least subtle person I know.” Harry shuffles over, leaning over Louis.

“And yet you're still not kissing me.”

Harry giggles. “Okay, well, since you asked so nicely.” He inches closer but he's still taking too damn long, so Louis takes matters into his own hands. He grabs Harry by the back of his head and pulls him in. Their faces collide a little too hard, and Harry loses his balance so his body falls down to the bed, but Louis chases him with no more complaints. They make out on the bed for a while then; it's nice, but Louis has the strange feeling Harry is holding back.

After a bit, Harry pulls back and says, “Should we go back to my room? I just feel like we're not going to if we don't now...”

“What does it matter?” Louis murmurs.

“My room's bigger. And we want them both to look like we were there. So.”

Louis sighs, pulling back and tracing a finger down Harry's face. “You're always so worried about doing what you think you should do.”

“Heyyy. I'm here with you and not in my bed at school like I'm supposed to be.”

“That's true.” Louis smiles. “Okay, let me get some stuff together. You head back and I'll follow you in a minute.”

He pulls his hiking supplies out of his backpack and replaces them with a change of clothes, his pyjamas, and his bag of toiletries. There's more than just a toothbrush and a comb in that little bag: he's also, optimistically, packed lube and condoms.

In Harry's room, he finds the other man sitting on the edge of the bed and fidgeting with his phone, still fully dressed. Louis approaches slowly. He drops his bag on the ground by the bed and tentatively pulls the phone from Harry's hands. Harry lets go of it easily, just watching while Louis sets the phone down on the nightstand.

Louis laughs suddenly, struck by a memory. He climbs into Harry's lap, straddling him just as he'd done after Harry's birthday. “Remember when I tied that balloon in your hair?”

“How could I forget?”

Louis laces his fingers together behind Harry's neck. Harry rests his hands on Louis' thighs. “How do you feel?” Louis asks.

Harry frowns. “Why? I don't know. Good. Bit nervous.”

“Hm.” Louis slides into Harry's hair, playing with it for a minute. Harry lets out a pleased little sigh, and it's so cute that Louis really has no choice but to kiss him.

Harry immediately pulls Louis tighter against him and kisses back. He might be nervous but he's not holding back the way he was earlier. His kiss is eager, his lips warm and insistent against Louis'. It's an easy feeling to get lost in. Louis closes his eyes and lets himself fall into the kiss, sucking Harry's lips, stroking his tongue against Harry's, winding his fingers into curls he can't see. He's hard but he's in no rush. They have all night. He has this moment to kiss, and kiss, and kiss.  

His lips feel swollen and hot. Actually, he feels hot all over, sweating under his clothes, and suddenly he can't stand how much he's wearing. He sits back to strip off his jumper and t-shirt. When he finishes, Harry lifts up his arms with an impish grin.

“What, you're going to make me do all the work?” Louis teases.

“Oh, did you not want to see my tattoos? My mistake.” Harry starts to lower his arms, and Louis grabs them quickly to stop him.

“You're mean. Stop it.” Louis grabs the hem of Harry's shirt and starts lifting, eyes fixed on Harry's body.

He lifts the shirt and the tattoo just keeps going on. It's huge, a tree spanning most of the height of Harry's long torso. It's obviously inspired by Celtic iconography, angular and elegant, the roots forming a giant Celtic knot that disappears into the waistband of Harry's trousers.

“Oh my god,” Louis breathes, throwing Harry's shirt aside and putting his hands. “This is incredible. That is absolutely sick. You're so hot.”

He wants to push Harry down and lick him all over, but then Harry is all over him, kissing down Louis' neck and shoulder while his hands roam over Louis' body.

“Ah,” Louis sighs. _“Harry.”_

Harry murmurs something against his skin, but Louis can't make it out. “What?”

Still so softly, but loudly enough this time that Louis can hear, Harry says, “You're not going to change your mind, right?”

“No, no way,” Louis says immediately. He needs to get his mouth on Harry, he feels; he needs to show Harry how much he wants him. He twists to get his face by Harry, kisses him hard on the mouth before trailing kisses down his jaw and his neck. He pushes on Harry's shoulders then, easing him down onto the bed. His kisses drift lower, down Harry's chest, and he murmurs, “Baby, believe me, all I want is you.”

Harry breathes shakily. “Yeah? You want me?”

“All the time.” He licks daringly down Harry's stomach, soft skin under his tongue as he traces down the trunk of the tattooed tree.

“What're you going to do?” Harry asks softly.

“Whatever you let me,” Louis blurts, which, shit, is maybe a bit much to say. He rushes to continue. “Can I go down on you?”

“Oh my god, yeah.”

Harry's answer makes Louis want to just tear off his trousers and swallow down his cock. He's burning to get Harry in his mouth. Part of his brain reminds him of the value of going slow, of teasing, and he doesn't exactly want to listen to it, but he does anyway. He eases trousers and pants off, kissing down Harry's long legs until the other man starts giggling and kicking at him. “Hey, Louis, you're way too low,” he snickers.

“Oi,” Louis complains insincerely. He bites Harry lightly on the calf but then he makes his way back up to wrap a hand around Harry's cock and grin up at him. “Have I hit the spot now?”

Harry starts laughing, but cuts off with a gasp when Louis puts his lips around the head of Harry's dick. “O-oh.”

Harry tastes a bit salty, reminding Louis that they haven't showered since their hike, but Louis doesn't mind. He's more concerned about the fact that he doesn't know how Harry likes it. He knows a few tricks by now, though. He licks around the head for a bit, alternating quick sucks with some tongue action, but he doesn't hear any serious noises from Harry until he moves his head down farther. He remembers _tighter, please_ from when he jerked Harry off, so he tries to remember to keep suction going, to press with lips and tongue. He blows Harry until it's good and messy, spit rolling down the shaft and dripping down his balls, until it's wet enough for his fingers to glide over skin. He wraps his fingers around the base of Harry's dick and squeezes.

Harry has only been moaning and gasping wordlessly, but at this, he says, “Oh, oh stop, stop.” He puts his foot on Louis' shoulder and pushes.

Louis pops off instantly. “What's wrong?”

“I'm gonna come.”

“Soooo...?”

Harry props himself up an elbow to look down at Louis. “Well. Don't you want to do... other stuff?”

Louis brushes just his fingertips down the side of Harry's cock, which makes Harry shudder. “What do you mean?”

“Ugh. You know. Like. Fucking, intercourse, going all the way, whatever you want to call it.”

“Oh. Well, sure, if you're up for it. But it's not like it's one or the other, is it. Unless you're telling me that all you want to do is come once tonight. Which, I've got to say, I'd be really disappointed by your lack of ambition, Harold.”

“Oh, well.” Harry smiles slowly. “Er, carry on, then? If you like?”

“I do,” Louis says brightly.  

 

* * *

 

After a satisfying exchange of blowjobs, they cuddle together under the blankets, giving each other shy smiles and soft touches. Louis reckons he could be ready to go again soon, but his belly reminds him that a few hours have already passed since their mountaintop dinner.

“I should've brought over all those snacks I got. You know, how about I go get them, and maybe we should both shower in the meantime?” Louis suggests carefully. “You know. Get cleaned up for... whatever we do next.”

“Ahh. Huh. Er, okay. But, like, don't be too long, okay? Otherwise I might start to miss you.”

Louis kisses him. “I'll be quick.”

Back in his room, Louis washes himself thoroughly – it had felt weird to bring up the question of who would top, so he figures he might as well be ready for anything. When he gets back to Harry's room, he finds the other man sitting on his bed reading. Harry has a towel draped over his shoulders but he's unabashedly naked otherwise. Louis is on the bed in a flash, nuzzling at Harry's soft, damp skin while Harry giggles and pushes at his shoulder.

“Get off, you perv.”

“Can't help it, I've been waiting weeks to see you with your top off.”

Harry pushes at his shoulder again. “Take your clothes off again, it's weird me sitting here naked otherwise.”

“That's a weird way to get me naked,” Louis laughs, stripping off his clothes. He slides his legs under the blankets and opens a packet of crisps. Harry offers him a cup of tea. Louis takes it happily, though he says, “What, you want me up all night?”

Harry just winks at him, and, okay, his dick is definitely interested in that. They sit in bed eating crisps and chatting, and it's all perfectly innocuous, and Louis is half-hard by the time the bag is half-empty.

“Are you done?” he asks abruptly, tossing the bag of crisps onto the floor.

Harry looks alarmed. “Did those spill?”

“Who _cares.”_ Louis flings himself at Harry, pulling him down and kissing him firmly, and that's that.

It's not long before they're both hard again, gasping and moving against each other. Louis definitely wants more, so he asks, “Er, so, how do you want to do this? If you still want to.”

Harry bites his lip. “I don't know. I haven't, before, so... I don't know what I like.”

Louis' heart starts racing nervously. _Ah, shit._ It's a bit of a thrill to have a first of Harry's, but it's a lot of pressure. It also probably means having to discuss more of his sexual history than he wanted to do. “Have you, like, fingered yourself before?”

“Sort of?” Harry blushes. “Dunno, it's a bit difficult, I didn't really like it but it was awkward, you know. I don't know if it'd be different with someone else? Why, do you want...”

They're laying side by side, and Louis finds himself looking down, watching his hands on Harry's chest. “Well. I guess I've mostly topped? But I've liked it both ways. So. You know. Whatever you want, honestly, I'll be thrilled, so.”

He wishes he wouldn't blush, but he can feel his face heating in spite of him. He's not ashamed of the sex he had in America – he was exploring and learning about himself, which was the whole point of that semester, and he's not sorry, really. It's awkward, though, because maybe he would've done all of that learning with Harry instead if he hadn't hurt Harry back then.

It hadn't felt so uncomfortable with those other guys, talking about what he had and hadn't done and what he wanted to do. It was always clear that those were flings at most, fun but temporary. They didn't have any claims on each other. It seems different now that he's in bed with a _boyfriend._ He's braced for a barrage of questions: who, what, when, how many, why.

Harry's silent for a long, excruciating moment. Louis' erection is flagging and he's filled with dread. Harry finally starts moving again, rubbing Louis' back, and he says, “I kind of feel like I'd... like to top, then? It seems easier for me. And... I don't know. Is that selfish?” He grimaces. “I know I probably won't be very good. Maybe it'd be better if...”

“Hey, no.” Louis looks up, relieved. He wonders if Harry can read _thank you for not interrogating me_ in his smile. “Whatever you want, babe, honestly. It'll be great. We have to do it for the first time together sometime, right? Well, I mean, we don't _have_ to, but if we both want to, which, well, I do, at least.”

“No, yeah, I do too. Okay.” Harry clears his throat. “So. Erm. Should I, like, finger you? Is that the thing to do?”

“Hm. You don't have to but it can help with relaxing, not to mention that it's just nice sometimes. So, yeah, sure. But listen, just come here for a sec.”

Louis pulls Harry in and just kisses him, slow and deep. He runs his hands along Harry's skin and he can actually feel the tension ease out of Harry, and he thinks, _there we go._ Harry looks dazed and flushed by the time Louis twists around to grab supplies out of his bag, strategically located right by the bed. “Give me your hand, babe.”

He squeezes a blob of lube onto Harry's fingers and guides Harry's hand downwards, lifting his knee. The first touch of the cool lube is just a small shock to feeling Harry's finger, tentatively exploring around his entrance. He pulls back to look down Louis' body and asks, “Okay? Should I...?”

“Yeah, go for it,” Louis croaks. “Start with just one.”

He sighs out as Harry pushes the first finger in. Harry wiggles his finger experimentally, then eases it in and out a few times. It's been a while but it's not hard for Louis to relax and let Harry's finger in, especially when Harry slides lower on the bed to watch what he's doing. His expression of intense concentration is adorable, and his fascination is fucking hot. “This is wild,” Harry mumbles, moving his finger a little faster. “You're amazing. Is it okay?”

“Yeah, give me another.”

“Already?”

“Yes, jesus, don't be judge-y, you're turning me on.”

Harry grins, wild-haired and dimpled, and obediently adds another finger. This is more of a stretch, and Louis has to breathe through it for a bit, but it still makes him want more. It's only the curious expression on Harry's face that convinces Louis to let him carry on with the fingering for a bit longer. Harry is staring at Louis' arse like it's something precious – it is, of course, but it's nice that Harry understands that. He's a man who appreciates what he's got, Louis thinks.

Harry starts mouthing at the side of Louis' cock and Louis pulls back with a jerk. “Ah, fuck, love, don't.”

Harry looks up at him with a pout. “No?”

“Some other time you can do that all you want, but you'd better not now if you want to fuck me,” Louis laughs. “Come on, get up here. Oh, no, wait, actually, you lie back.”

Harry sprawls back against the pillows. His eyes widen when Louis picks up a condom packet. “You really came prepared.” He giggles then. “Prepared to come.”

“You know what they say,” Louis chirps. Before Harry can question that, he asks, “Shall I do the honours?”

“All right.”

Harry holds himself perfectly still as Louis slides the condom down his length and slicks it up with a generous portion of lube. Louis straddles him then, one hand still holding his cock and one hand on his chest. “Ready?”

 _“Please,”_ Harry sighs.

He begs so prettily -  so pliant, his cheeks flushed, his hair wild – that Louis wants to make him keep it up for a bit. Another time, though. Now, he lines Harry up and starts slowly sinking down onto him. He gets the head in and stops for a moment to adjust before continuing on. “Ah, that's good,” he sighs, embracing the intensity.

“It is?” Harry asks intently.

“Don't fish for compliments. But your cock is great.” Louis is already breathing hard by the time he bottoms out, sitting down on Harry and letting himself relax for a moment. He feels deliciously full, full of Harry.

He just has to kiss him, which accidentally turns into a bit of a tease: after a bit, Harry starts moving his hips, trying to fuck up into him. “What, you want something?” Louis grins against Harry's lips.

In a strangled voice, Harry asks, “Are we going to do this or are you just going to torment me? Please, Lou, let me – oh _god.”_

The shocked look on Harry's face and the convulsive clenching of his fingers on Louis' hips when Louis starts to move are absolutely beautiful. Louis starts out slow, getting a feel for him. He's soon drawing a stream of little gasps and moans from Harry's red lips. He speeds up even more, and Harry gets louder, and _god,_ it's good. Harry's got a fantastic dick and it feels like heaven moving in and out of Louis just the way he wants it. It's not always his thing, bottoming, but right now it feels fantastic, leaves him feeling hot all over.

It's also a thrill to give Harry exactly what he asked for and to watch him all helpless and overwhelmed. He looks absolutely gorgeous, spread out under Louis. The way he bucks up and tries to match Louis' rhythm is inexpert and it interferes a little with what Louis is doing, but he likes the eagerness. He also likes the way it makes the muscles of Harry's stomach jump and quiver. He sits back a little and traces the sweat-slick lines of Harry's tattoos, stark and swirling against his skin, until his legs can't take it anymore and he flops down against Harry.

“Getting – getting tired?” Harry manages to ask, squeezing Louis' thighs.

“No,” Louis snaps.

“I could – ah – be on top for a bit. Or.” His eyes light up. “Hands and knees?”

Louis considers this. It's not exactly what he's in the mood for at the moment, but maybe that works. He does hate coming first when he bottoms. “Okay.”

He hops off of Harry and gets himself in position, hands and knees, while Harry shuffles up behind him. Louis cranes his neck uncomfortably to look behind him while Harry gets into position. Harry gets a bit more lube on himself, then puts one hand on Louis' arse and one on his own cock, his face screwed up in concentration. He touches the head of his cock to Louis' arse and then eases in so, so slowly, watching every millimeter, every inch, disappear into Louis' body. It's slow enough to feel awkward, if Louis' honest, but it's obviously driving Harry crazy.

Harry bottoms out with a full-body shudder that makes him wiggle inside Louis in very interesting ways. When he lingers for too long, Louis reaches back to smack him on the hip. “Move already.”

“Sorry,” Harry says in a rough voice. He does, then, setting a slightly too-quick pace, breathing harshly as his hips slap against Louis' backside.

After a bit of that, Louis asks him to slow down a little, and drops down to his elbows. He knows that this arches his back and makes his arse look amazing. Just as he expected, Harry's hands immediately go to his bottom, squeezing, and Harry groans, “God, you have the best arse. It's so... and then your waist...” Harry runs his hands worshipfully up and down Louis' body, from the narrow point of his waist to the swell of hips and arse, and Louis loves it. He feels sexy and adored.

He also feels Harry's dick pumping in and out of him. That's pretty good, too.

He adjusts the angle of his body and his hips until it's just right, pleasure burning deep inside him with every thrust. Between that and Harry's hands and Harry's words, he's suddenly on edge. It feels so good that he doesn't want to move; he just wants to ride this feeling as long as he can. He's making high, breathy sounds with each thrust. He starts to feel embarrassed, but then he realises that Harry must be into it, because he starts talking.

“Sweet, oh god, Louis, yes,” Harry babbles. “You, oh... mine, want to make you feel mine, make you feel me.”

“Yes, yes,” Louis gasps back as Harry's moans get louder and louder. “You close, babe?”

“Ah – I think – yeah, fuck, you're so, feel so good,” Harry groans.

“Yeah, come for me, baby, want you to,” Louis says. Harry suddenly speeds up again, pistoning in and out of Louis until he thrusts in one last time with a choked wail, folding himself over Louis' body and shuddering through it. Louis reaches up and pets Harry's hair, murmuring softly, “Yeah, that's it, Harry, lovely.”

Harry pulls out, flopping down onto the bed on his back. Louis goes down next to him, wrapping his hand immediately around his neglected, rock-hard cock with a loud groan. He rolls to lean up against Harry and urgently asks, “Can I come on you?”

“Yeah, course,” Harry says. He looks dazed but he still reaches out for Louis, replacing Louis' hand with his own and wanking him quickly. It doesn't take long after that for it to hit, release breaking over him like a wave. He shoots off all over Harry's tattoo, then falls onto Harry in happy relief, not even caring that he's smearing his own come on himself.   

“Ah, thanks, love,” Louis sighs, kissing Harry's shoulder.

Harry strokes his back lightly. “That was amazing.”

“Yeah.” Louis grins.

 

* * *

 

In the morning, Harry asks Louis to fuck him. “It's just, it looked like you enjoyed it, and I don't know when we'll get a chance next, and we have all this time now...”

Louis slaps a hand over Harry's mouth. “Explanation not necessary. Less talking, more sexing.”

He fingers Harry for ages, through the stage where he's all squirmy and uncomfortable, until it gets to _“oh, wait, that's actually good, what's happening”,_ until it feels properly good and he really does get Harry begging for more. It's just as pretty as he imagined it. He gets to show Harry how he does it, the long slow strokes, the quick powerful thrusts, everything in between, and he's really not an expert but Harry's reactions make him feel like one. He gets the beautiful sight of Harry riding him, mouth open in an expression of perpetual shock, and he gets Harry falling apart and coming so hard that he gets some on his own chin, and it's all amazing.

They miss the official check-out time by a full hour. There's no way that Mary at the front desk doesn't know what was happening, either, not with all the noise they made. Oh well. They walk out of there with their heads held high.

Louis lets Harry look up directions back, since Harry insists on revising. They buy massive coffees at a petrol station, both a bit sleepy and dazed on the drive back. “Well, time to see if I've been busted or not,” Harry announces brightly as they approach his school.

“Call me later,” Louis says. He parks and leans over for a long, lazy kiss.

“Oh, shit,” Harry exclaims. “I wanted to talk about this at the hotel but then...”

It hangs unspoken between them: _but then we just spent the entire time having sex._ Louis asks, “Talk about what?”

“I want to tell people. About us.” Harry bites his lip. “Can I?”

“Oh! Er, well, yeah. Yeah, of course. People like... families? Friends? Make a press release?”

Harry laughs at that last bit. “No, I didn't mean like a big announcement, I mean unless you want, but, like, I'd like to tell my parents and my brother and sister at least. Probably a few of my friends at school?”

“Okay. I'll tell my family and my mates, too.”

“Yeah?” Harry beams. “Great. Okay. Okay.”

Louis reaches over to play with Harry's hair. “Am I going to see you again before the end of the term?”

“I'm not sure,” Harry says slowly. “I think it'd be a bad idea to do another overnight with exams coming up. But I definitely want to. So. I don't know. Don't you leave St. Andrews soon anyway? Can you come visit me again?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course. Well. Study hard so you can go to uni in London with me. Then we'll have all the overnights we want.” 

Harry groans. “Study _hard_ is right if I keep thinking about that.”

“Oh, you're terrible.”

 _“You're_ terrible.”

In the end, Louis has to forcibly eject him from the car. Backseat make-outs just around the corner from his school are a bad enough idea, but even worse now that they can so easily progress to more than just kissing. He has to make Harry leave while they've both still got their trousers on.


	25. Chapter 25

Harry spends the first few days after leaving school at his parents' house in a lazy haze. He always feels like himself here, always more comfortable on this old, fraying sofa with one broken spring than he is on the finest designer couches. “I can't believe I'm done,” he sighs happily.

“That's about the fiftieth time you've said that,” his mum laughs from the table where she's working on a crossword puzzle.

“Read me a clue,” he demands.

“Get up and sit with me if you want to help me, lazy bones,” she scolds.

“Can't. I'm only a puddle now.”

“Shame.”

He kicks a pillow a few times before venturing, “Mum, I have something to tell you.”

He can practically sense her eyes on him as he stares at the ceiling. “What is it, Harry?”

“Well. I'm dating Louis.”

“Is that right? I'd wondered after you took him to Australia.” He can hear the smile in her voice. “Well, that's lovely. You look happy.”

Harry bites his lip, trying not to beam too embarrassingly. “Yeah, I am. It's new, but, erm, good so far. And I probably didn't tell you about how he's changing schools? So we'll both be in London next year. I mean unless I failed all my A-levels and they don't actually let me in.”

“I'm sure you haven't. Did he change schools for you?”

“No, no.” Harry summons the energy to turn his head and chuckles at her frown. “No, he wants to study acting so he's switching to a theatre school. Back when he must've been applying, he and I were hardly even talking. It just worked out.”

“Ah. So you're settled on London?”

“If I make the grades for Imperial, yeah. It's the best university I'm in at so far, so. We'll see, I guess.”

 

* * *

 

Meeting Anne after his return to London, Harry faces down a list of appearances, appointments, and vaguely-labeled “enrichment activities” and “tutorials.” They're mostly domestic, and they fill the summer with impressive thoroughness. He reminds himself that he knew this was possible – likely, even. Steeling himself, he says, “I want to negotiate this.”

“Negotiate?”

“Yes. I understand some of these are likely important, but surely they're not all essential? And – I had hoped to do some other things.”

She sits back, looking at him thoughtfully. “Go on.”

“Niall and I had always thought we would backpack through Europe before uni. We'd see a bunch of countries, visit all the famous museums and cathedrals, go see, erm, historical stuff, the whole lot.” Harry winces. His carefully-rehearsed explanations are falling to pieces in his mouth.  _ Historical stuff? _

Anne doesn't let it slide. “Historical stuff, right,” she says with a small smirk. “How wonderfully studious of you.”

“Okay, we were also excited about staying in grotty hostels and partying all night. But honestly, the historical and cultural stuff, learning, seeing other places, experiencing them and not just reading about them or seeing them on telly, that was the point. And... I know I can't have that backpacker experience, just like that. But it's got to be possible to get some aspects of that. I want to travel and  _ experience  _ places that aren't just luxury resorts or curated visits. You know what I mean?”

She laughs softly. “I think I do, dear. Your own version of the classic Grand Tour, hm.” Leaning forward, she presses her hands together and smirks. “All right. Let's negotiate.”

 

* * *

 

“It was actually kind of fun,” Harry marvels to Gemma.

“You were holed up in there for hours,” she says flatly, pouring herself another glass of wine.

“Yeah, I'm exhausted, but it was good. We each laid out our priorities, and we discussed what I wanted, and what she wanted, and compromised and stuff. I'm really happy. I get to travel around almost like a normal person.”

“It's sad that you can't accept yourself for the abnormal weirdo you are.”

“Yeah, thanks for your support. Seriously, it's going to be so cool. I still have some official things to do but I got a lot cut. The rest, we're going to try to reschedule and group them up more.”

They sip their wine in convivial silence for a bit before Gemma asks, “How do you feel about the official engagements, now you've done a few?”

“Hm. Individually they're all right. You meet lots of brilliant interesting people, or go someplace interesting, and everyone's happy to see me. It's fun, yeah. Tiring. It's hard doing a lot all at once, balancing everyone can be quite difficult, but. On their own, yeah, it's okay.”

“Is it a little bit like singing was for you?”

Harry frowns. “Not really? I mean I don't sing at all at them, so...”

“But I mean, you're sort of...  _ on.  _ It's still a performance mode. You're the centre of attention and you're trying to hit the right notes, metaphorically speaking, to entertain your audience. Don't you think? You've got a very similar sort of energy when you do it.”

“Huh. It doesn't really feel that way to me. It's not the same kind of adrenaline rush. But... yeah, it is a performance still, I suppose. I don't feel like I'm acting or faking. But I didn't really when I was singing either. Except for when they tried to get me to do stupid dance moves.”

“You're a natural performer.” Looking away, Gemma says, “I hate them, mostly. The engagements.  _ I _ feel like I'm faking the whole time. It makes me so anxious... It's gotten easier because I know what I'm supposed to do and say, but it's always, hm, calculated.”

“Huh. So it's really different for you. It's so weird 'cause you grew up with it.”

Gemma shrugs. “Maybe that's why I hate it. Who knows. But, look, Harry. And don't take this the wrong way – I'm proud of you for telling Mum what you wanted and getting her to cut back on your duties for the summer. You deserve it. But. Can I tell you something?”

“Yeah, of course.” He leans forward, fully focused on her words now, because it feels important.

“I hope this is a long, long way off, but it scares the shit out of me to think of being queen and having all of Mum's responsibilities,” Gemma admits in a shaky voice. “But now, I think – I feel like I'm going to be able to count on you. Like we can share the public stuff. I think you're really, truly suited to it, and not all of it, I'd never ask that and I couldn't anyway, but when I think that you could be helping me, that I wouldn't have to do it all alone – it feels okay. It feels manageable.”

Harry scoots closer so he can rest a hand on her foot. “Gems, hey, of course. Of course I'll be around to help you. It's kind of my job, right?”

She smiles, misty-eyed. “Kind of, but only if you accept it. God, we got lucky with you, didn't we.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “I don't know.”

“I do,” she says firmly. “And I'm really glad we have you.”

“I'm glad I have you guys, too,” Harry says, and he realises that he truly means it.

 

* * *

 

“We're like zebras right now,” Harry says.

Louis frowns with his cone of gelato halfway to his mouth. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“They travel in herds, so there's safety in numbers. And then their stripes confuse predators, like, the lion can't tell where one zebra ends and the other begins, you know, so they can't pick out one to attack.”

Louis looks pointedly at Harry's non-descript, non-striped clothing. “Sure.”

“I just mean, like, no one sees us because there's too many people to see.”

“You do talk some shit,” Louis laughs.

“Come on, I'm right, though!”

Louis shakes his head, chuckling, but Harry  _ is _ right, in his strange way. They're sitting in Venice's Piazza San Marco, eating overpriced gelato in an overstuffed outdoor cafe. The piazza is teeming with people, swirling masses of tourists strolling and gawking and dodging the puddle on one side of the piazza that could rightfully be called a pond in its own right. Sometimes they walk right into the water because they're too busy gawking at the Basilica, and then they shriek and flail. Those are Louis' favourites. The important thing, though, is that everyone is far too busy taking in the stunning scenery of Venice to notice the two world-famous faces eating their gelato in the crowd.

They're wearing hats and sunglasses, of course. They're dressed down enough to fit in, but not so much so that they'll be embarrassed if they're caught. It isn't much of a disguise. The real camouflage is, just as Harry said, the mass of people around them.

“So this is where it starts,” Harry muses. “You ready?”

“Hmm? What, for our trip?”

“No, I mean, like. You and me as a public thing. At some point we'll get recognised, and someone will put pictures of us travelling together up, and then, you know.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Stop asking me that, would you? I've told you a hundred times that I'm all in.”

“Sorry.” Harry looks down at the table. 

Louis reaches out and grabs Harry's free hand. “It's okay, but seriously, I'm not changing my mind. We're going to have an amazing trip and by the end of it, everyone's gonna know that  _ I  _ am the one who bagged Prince Harry. That's brilliant. Because I kind of love you, you know.”

Louis wishes they weren't wearing these stupid sunglasses – he wishes he could see Harry's eyes lock onto his when Harry's head snaps up. He can see the blush on Harry's cheeks, though, and his beautiful lips open in surprise, and that's still pretty good.

“Ah – that's good, because I kind of love you too,” Harry says. His voice is soft, but his smile is huge, dimples deep in his pink cheeks.

“Well, thank god for that,” Louis murmurs. Then he leans in and kisses his gorgeous, sweet boyfriend, wraps his hand around the back of Harry's neck and kisses him in the middle of Venice, in the middle of hundreds of people, because they're each other's now, and they don't care who knows it.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! <3 I so hope you enjoyed it.  
> I'm on tumblr [here](https://fakedeepplantjerker.tumblr.com/).  
> There is a [rebloggable tumblr fic post here](https://fakedeepplantjerker.tumblr.com/post/162243861050/in-my-place-by-kassio-fakedeepplantjerker) if you are so inclined!


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